


adrift

by meowrails



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Crying, Cunnilingus, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Angst, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Living Together, M/M, Melodrama, Ocean Metaphors, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, Second Chances, Strap-Ons, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, nasty old men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/pseuds/meowrails
Summary: By an ironic twist of fate, Istus has forced him back to the material plane, on a planet he’s never heard of, to a distant future he was never supposed to know existed. John was not worthy of peaceful non-existence.Dear gods, he doesn’t want to be here.(John is reborn from the ocean, Merle helps him learn how to swim.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so here's something i began on a whim! i fell back into my personal johnchurch hell and missed writing the boys. still not even halfway writing it as i post this but i'm hoping to have semi-constant updates. please heed the tags!

_You would rather have gone on feeling nothing, emptiness and silence; the stagnant peace of the deepest sea, which is easier than the noise and flesh of the surface._

_\- Margaret Atwood_

 

John is reborn from water, sea foam and sand, discarded on a beach like another piece of driftwood. His rebirth felt like that akin to a god, or a demon, but the instant the air catches his lungs he knows this is nowhere near as graceful. His skin feels hot under the suns, the sand touches him everywhere, he coughs up phlegm and bile as he tries to remember how to breathe. By an ironic twist of fate, Istus has forced him back to the material plane, on a planet he’s never heard of, to a distant future he was never supposed to know existed. John was not worthy of peaceful non-existence.

Dear gods, he doesn’t want to be here.

He sits on his knees, feeling the saltwater drip down his body. He feels disgusting, sticky and used, a sort of debauchery he has not felt in millions of years. But there are no cracks in his skin that are repaired with the unknown. No extra eyes, no extra voices. He is no longer  _ we _ , just I. John. He feels empty. 

The man in front of him must see something else. He’s smiling at him, so it must be something foolish. No one has smiled at the sight of him in so, so long. Why would they?

John rubs at the bruise on his cheek and spits out more blood. He doesn’t take Merle’s first reaction personally. If anything, he wished he had hurt him more, at least to remind himself what mortal pain feels like. 

What an interesting thing, to be able to bruise. To be able to tremble at the sight of someone else.

As if just realizing what he did, Merle widens his eyes and gets closer to John. “Pan, I did a number on you, didn’t I?” He laughs nervously. “Sorry, didn’t know how else to react, but you deserved it. You also deserve some food and a shower, don’t ya buddy?”

John wishes his first words in this terrifying new world were something more meaningful. Instead, he says:

“I... I haven’t needed a shower for millions of years.”

“Yeah, and it shows right now.” Merle says. John looks down at his algae and sand covered hands. Merle waves him off as he helps him up to his feet. “S’fine. Come on, up you go. Pan, you look like shit.”

“Don’t feel much better, either.”

John groans as he walks inside. Not out of pain, he can deal with that. It’s mostly out of the fact that he can feel Merle’s hand touching his arms. He has no idea how to react to another humanoids touch. It’s also because he just happened to bump his head against the door frame built for dwarves, not beings of his size. The roof is thankfully tall enough for him to stand comfortably.

“Sorry, should have warned you,” Merle says. There’s a hint of a smile on his face. There usually is. 

John looks around the house. It’s large, larger than it should be for a single, older dwarf. He wonders if other people live here, perhaps in a sort of communal living. Merle did mention he was a priest in a beach town. It echoes what cults were like on his world, but no, Merle isn’t that cruel.

It’s not as messy as he expected it to be. There is no trash littered around the house, save for a can of beer he sees beside a trash can, as if someone threw it and missed. It is cluttered, though. Plant life grows from the walls, from pots of every size, hanging from the roof and on the walls. He sees weeds taken care with as much love as the flowers, many kinds of plants he’s never seen before. Everything Merle does turns into life. John believes he must have lived somewhere colder in his past life, the tropical weather never interested him. 

He’ll have to get used to it.

“Do you have somewhere I can wash myself?” John asks, and just then wonders if he should have waited for Merle to offer it. He’s too sticky from dried saltwater to care. 

“Oh shit, yeah. Sure.” Merle leads him upstairs to his bedroom. He can tell by the extra amount of plants and the fact that it's much messier than the rest of the house he's seen. Apparently, he’ll get to bathe in the master bathroom, lucky him.

Merle creates enough water to fill the tub and heats it up with a wave of his hand. Magic is used far less sparingly in this world, it seems. 

He’s handed soap and a towel. The bathtub seems to have a dozen other soaps and oils to choose from. John looks down at himself, realizing he has to take off his clothes and has nothing to change to. He’s been wearing this suit for as long as he can remember. It feels like a second skin.

Merle seems to get it just from the look on his face. “Just leave it outside the door, I can get someone else to mend it later.”

John clears his throat, “Do you have... something else that will fit me?”

“I can find something. Relax.”

It’s becoming increasingly difficult for him to do that.

With an awkward bit of silence, Merle leaves the room to give him some privacy. John continues on autopilot. It's been a very,  _ very  _ long time since he's had to do something as mortal as bathing, but thankfully that's something that’s pretty hard to forget. 

He rubs the first soap he sees against a towel and scrubs his skin as much as possible, until it's red. The more he looks at himself, the angrier he gets. There's a mirror in front of him that shows him just his his body looks. John had forgotten what he looks like, that he  _ looks  _ like something. 

His hair is a deep black, contrasting the stark white at the temples. His face is pale, covered in unkempt stubble, and heavy, dark circles rest beneath his eyes. He looks immeasurably tired. John looks away. In different time, he would have destroyed the mirror completely, but he doesn't have the strength.

He once wanted to be terrifying and beautiful. The pinnacle of the sublime. He feels pathetic.

John sinks into the water and allows it touch every part of his skin. Fall calmer than that of the ocean. He sinks until the water reaches just below his nose. For a moment, he fears the water will turn to black. It stays opaque and still.

A being of countless power. Now look at him. An old man, without any magic left to spare. No history, no goals, no destiny. Just the curse of existing for a limited time, only to be forgotten.

Just John. 

And now Merle.

He steps out of the bathtub after what feels like an hour, maybe more, and dried himself with a small towel until he finally,  _ finally _ felt clean. His breaths feel labored, like he's trying not to panic. He felt panic before, for a brief moment, during his final talk with Merle. It was engulfed by the void soon after. The feeling still feels new.

John opens the door, the small towel covering his more private parts, expecting Merle have left the clothes for him beside the door. He didn't. 

“Merle?” John says, tentatively. When no one answers, he yells. “ _ Merle!” _

Merle comes running, holding something. It looks like he forgot what he had to do.

“Sorry, I forgot what I had to do,” He sighs.

Of course.

Merle hands him a too large shirt and too short pants. No underwear. John shoots him a look.

“Hey, this is all stuff I could find that was left over by the team when they visit. Sorry that Magnus is way beefier than you.” 

John has to tie the strings of the pants as tight as possible, that are more like the bottom pairs of pajamas, to allow them to fit. They only reach the edge of his knees. “And these?”

“Those are mine.”

John tries not to think about that. 

This feels... ridiculous. He doesn't want to say that out loud, though. “You said you could mend my suit, yes?”

“Oh, totally. I can call the town tailor tomorrow, she'll have to looking tall, dark, and handsome in no time.” Merle says with an awkward smile. 

John wonders if he should smile back. He doesn't. He just stands here, hands behind his back, trying to look as in control as a man wearing an oversized t-shirt can. Except he's in control of absolutely nothing, thrusted into the confusing realm of life once more. He forgot how awkward life could be. They both just stand there, looking at each other. 

“You said you could offer some food? I feel rather hungry.” John asks, then realizes what he said and clears his throat. “Not in the sense -- Not that I feel the sort of hunger I used to. I--”

“John,” Merle interrupts, and it manages to stop him from rambling. He looks serious, it's a look Merle should wear more often. “I know you aren't... whatever you were before. I don't know why you're back, and I don't know if you know the reason either. I'm sure of this: you're back for a reason, and you're back to being human. I trust that you aren't gonna make a deal with some other grim cosmic specter of death again and try to kill us. That would be dumb, we already defeated you once.”

John blinks, taken aback by his words. He looks down at his feet, not knowing what to say. He doesn't think he has to say anything. 

“Now, let me make you some soup. I bet you haven't had real food in ages.”

John follows him down the stairs in silence. His stomach rumbles at the sound of an actual meal. What an odd feeling. 

The kitchen is slightly less filled with plants than the rest of the house. Merle offers him a human sized chair in front of the island and a glass of water. John drinks it like he's dehydrated, he probably is, and has to be reminded by Merle not to drink so fast. Watching him cook is... calming. Merle plays music from the radio in the background while he does, something  _ extremely  _ beachy that he wouldn't expect from a world like this. Also, country music. He didn't think they would have that here, either. He supposes cowboys can exist in any reality.

John wants to ask Merle  _ everything.  _ He is so fascinated by this infuriating, small man. “Do you like cooking?”

Merle didn't expect a question like that. He shrugs, “Didn't used to. When I got used to the bachelor life I just lived of junk for a while. Trying to take better care of myself. Y’know, gotta look good in front of my kids. I even gotta pretend I'm a vegetarian in front of the congregation sometimes. Who'd think a cleric of Pan likes a little steak sometimes?”

John feels his heart sink. He forgot it could do that. “You have kids?” 

“I never mentioned ‘em? Two. Mavis, the eldest, and Mookie, my lil’ rascal. Yeah, but they live in another town with their mother, more in-land. They visit on the weekends now.” Merle focuses on stirring the soup in front of him. “You like kids?”

John shakes his head, “I don't... remember. I haven't seen one in so long.”

“Life is miserable without children, that's what I think. And I ain't even talkin’ about having one of your own, but just seeing their faces. Watching them learn and grow. It's a blessing. I think you'd like Mavis.”

“You would be alright with me... meeting your children?” John asks carefully, making sure Merle is aware of what he’s saying.

Merle looks back at him and pauses, considering his words. He doesn’t believe Merle does that very often. “Yeah. Looks like your gonna be living here, now. You might as well.”

John lets out a hollow laugh, “Of course I will. Where else would I go?” It’s a hypothetical question. They both know the answer. 

What is happening? He's been alive just a few hours and he's already speaking to Merle about meeting his  _ children _ . As if Merle has already decided he's going to be a part of his life. John wants to be angered by this, but where else would he go? The people of this world remember when he was multitudes, when he almost destroyed them. Without Merle’s protection, he would be hanged without a second thought. Or worse. 

What a cruel punishment this is, to have to create a life with the man he killed so many times. 

John didn't realize he had his head in his hands, fingers curled up into his slightly damp hair. Gods, help him. He knows they won't.

“John?” 

He glances at the man, then the bowl of soup in front of him. 

“Eat now. We can talk later.”

Merle has the grace to give him space to breathe, thankfully. The dwarf drinks a cup of tea spiked with some sort of alcohol as John  _ devours  _ his meal. Merle gives him seconds without even asking. It's good, better than he expected. He wonders if it's divine cooking spell or that he's just starving.

“Taako taught me how to make it. It's simple enough even I can do it,” Merle chuckles and sips on his drink. “Fucked it up a couple of times when I started, thought.”

“That is your... elf friend, yes? The one with the sister?”

“That's the one,” Merle grits his teeth. “It's gonna be  _ real  _ fun to have to tell them that you’re back. John Two: Electric Boogaloo.”

“I assume they don't have the same sort of fondness for me you have,” John tries to say lightheartedly.

“Oh, I'm pretty sure one of them will try to kill you. I won't let them, though. You're under the protection of a priest, and the Church of Pan.”

John perks up, “Do you really have that much power as a holy man?”

“Over them? Fuck no. They don't care that I'm technically a priest. I'm the butt monkey of the fucking trio, too old to remember his own fuckin’ spells. But I’m serious, they will not hurt you. It'll be a heavy, shit-your-pants interrogation at most.”

John looks down at him, completely serious. “No matter what I do in my new life, Merle, I can promise you... I will  _ never _ shit my pants.”

It gets a good, hearty laugh out of Merle. The sort he liked to hear back in the parleys, but they were so few in between he had to savor them like gifts. Here, Merle gives them so much more often. 

The feeling is nice while it lasts, however brief. He goes back to hating himself soon after, tugging at his skin and trying to hide his face from the other man. Merle doesn't comment on it. He gives him the silence and space he needs. John doesn't want silence or space. He doesn't  _ know  _ what he needs and it's killing him. Unfortunately, not literally. So many new feelings, so many new emotions he no longer knows how to name. 

“I’m sorry, I need to lie down. I need... I'm so tired.” John hates how weak his voice sounds but it's right. He's exhausted. 

“You can use my bed.”

“Are you sure?”

Merle waves a wooden hand at him, “If I said I'm okay with it, I'm sure. Rest for as long as you need to, John.”

John leaves the room and forces his body up the stairs. The bed is big, but not long, and John has to curl himself up with the blankets, oddly cold simply by the gentle breeze that flies from the window. The pillows smell like Merle: flowers, the ocean, and cheap cologne. 

When he dreams, he’s in the middle of the ocean. Always gasping for air, never to rise to the surface.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old man yells at god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings for this chapter:** suicidal thinking/wishes, existential crisis, descriptions of drowning

There are things about living that come back instinctively. He remembers how to breathe, he remembers how to go to the bathroom, to eat and sleep. The most basic instincts of an animal.

There are still other basic things John forgets. He forgets he _has_ to eat. He forgets that he has to speak in order to communicate, and that he has to speak with other people. No longer are there billions of voices replace the concept of company. He forgets how to wake up from his dreams, only to have the warm touch of a wooden hand force him out of his make-believe ocean. Back to reality, John.

He also forgets how to shave.

It’s mostly in part because he doesn't want to look at himself for too long, but he has absolutely no practice in this new life. It's been millions of years since he's had to worry about keeping his appearance. He only manages to get halfway before he cuts himself twice, all by accident. It stings horribly and he almost convinces himself that it’s alright to have a half shaven face. Merle comes in quickly after hearing him swear loudly at the mirror.

It takes Merle a while to stop laughing at the sight, then he finally says: “That stubble doesn’t look bad, it’s just weird seeing you with it. Makes you look like you’re ass deep in a fuckin’ mid-life crisis.”

John stares at himself in the mirror, grumbling, and strokes the longer stubble that covers half of his face, all grayer than the hair on his head. He doesn’t like it. “Can’t be in a mid-life crisis if I’m one day old, Merle.”

“Postpartum depression, my man.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” John sighs, knowing that Merle is just pulling his leg to try to make him feel more at ease. It doesn’t, but he appreciates the effort. “Give me the razor and some... um...”

“Shaving cream? Aftershave?”

“Yes, yes. That thing.”

Merle holds the supplies closer to his chest. “I think I should take care of that for you, buddy. Just this once.”

John grits his teeth, feeling babied, but he doesn’t trust himself near a blade at the moment either.

Within minutes, John finds himself leaning back on a chair as Merle sits on the table beside him to reach his face. John closes his eyes, feeling more relaxed than he ever has as Merle runs the razor over the skin of his neck. He doesn’t want to bleed, nor does he want anything to happen, but should Merle slip a little and accidentally end him... well, what a beautiful death would that be.

He definitely shouldn’t say that out loud. Nor should he think it. What is wrong with him? He doesn’t care if he dies, but why should he make Merle suffer like that? Hasn’t he done enough?

And why is he thinking about this right now? All that’s happening is he’s getting a shave and a quick trim.

“So melodramatic...”

Merle smirks, “Lost in your thoughts, buddy?”

“Not anymore.” John opens his eyes and runs a hand over his freshly shaven cheek. The bruise still hasn’t head, and it hurts when he presses it, but it feels like his old face. Merle conjures a small mirror to look at himself, he only gives it a quick glance, fixing his hair and sitting up.

Merle whistles, “There’s the Johnny I recognize.”

John feels a warmth over his cheeks that he’s sure does not come from his bruise. Merle notices it, he’s sure, but he doesn’t say anything. He forgot blushing was a thing humans could do, Merle has the luck of being so naturally tan it doesn’t show. Has he ever made Merle blush? “Ah, yes. Back to normal. A better normal. Save for my clothes.”

“Already called a tailor, my man. She’s coming over soon, but I can find you something decent to change to in the meantime. I’m warning you, though. I literally own no pants that go any longer than my ankles.”

John sighs accepts his fate once more.

 

\---

 

Merle is not exaggerating when he says he own no long pants. It’s mostly Bermudas and cut off jeans, as well as regular cargo shorts. When it comes to shirts, it’s all button ups of different prints and patterns. All John would never be caught dead wearing no matter what life he’s in.

Unfortunately, he’s bound by the newfound fact that he has to remember how to be _polite_. Fuck.

“Have you ever organized your shirts? Or your socks and underwear?” John asks, trying not to look disgusted by the sheer mess.

“Nah, why would I? I just put whatever feels right that day, or the first shit I see.”

John smiles to himself, “Didn’t expect anything less from you.”

Merle ends up finding the pants that would most fit John and enlarging a shirt with a simple spell. It’s a red shirt, the darkest shade of anything he owns. The shorts, however, are still beige. And only cover up to the middle of his thigh, which look extra pale. John puts it on, _finally_ able to wear some underwear at least, and tries to make do.

He looks at himself in the mirror and tries to button up the rest of his shirt, but he’s unsurprised to see that it’s missing the first three buttons, forced to reveal part of his chest.

Beside him, Merle stifles a laugh.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” John asks, hand on his hips.

“Hell yeah, I am. Not often you get to see your former arch-enemy in short shorts.”

John feigns an air of flattery, “Aw, I was your _arch-_ nemesis? Thank you.”

Merle clears his throat, “Well, to the rest of the world. Not to me, though.”

“What was I, then?”

“Doesn’t matter what you _were_ ,” Merle answers, cleverly avoiding actually answering the question, “just matters what you’re now. What you’re gonna be, right? What d’ya wanna be now, John?”

John crosses his arms, suddenly noticing the stark difference in height as Merle stands up. They were usually looking at each other across a table, almost equal in height but little else.

Despite it all, Merle still finds a way to tower over him.

“You asked me in a parlay if I was your friend. Somehow... I think I missed my chance.”

“Hey, I’m letting you stay in my house, right? I’m feeding ya, lending you my shitty clothes. Hell, I’m even cooking for you. I barely cook for jack shit. I want you here, John. I already consider you my friend, even with what happened. You planted a seed, it’s up to us to see how far it can grow.”

John’s skin bristles at the concept of the future. Where their relationship can go from here is up in the air, but he knows there’s something lying underneath. Something they both feel, and had they met under different circumstances, it could work. John doesn’t allow himself to dream of ridiculous things, but the words lie on the tip of his tongue at the edge of the unspoken.

There’s a knock on the door downstairs, Merle excuses himself and rushes down to answer. John takes the opportunity to sniff at the collar of his shirt.

What an odd form of domesticity, to allow someone else to dress you in their clothes. It might be hideous, but it all smells like Merle.

 

\---

 

John is absolutely certain the woman measuring his arms knows exactly who he is.

Even at her first glance at him, the tailor paused, squinting her eyes as she tries to find out who he could possibly be. John introduces himself and calmly as she can. The tailor tells him her name is Mrs. Stonefixer, her grip on his hand is tighter than it should be for a normal handshake.

Now, John stands in the middle of the living room, dressed down to his used, slightly too tight, underwear and nothing else. He avoids eye-contact as much as humanly possible, even if Merle is idly staring at him and not trying to hide it.

“So, John, what brings you here? You know Earl Highchurch?” Mrs. Stonefixer asks, trying to make conversation or trying to interrogate him. John knows Merle is a well known figure in the community, and has to be careful with every word.

“We've known each other for quite some times, yes. I was just... passing through.” He glances at Merle, who watches him cautiously.

Merle interjects, “Johnny here got in some trouble and needed a place to stay. Hence his suit getting fucked up.”

The tailor looks at the suit she will most certainly have to throw away and scratches her beard. “By being thrown in... the ocean?”

John clears his throat, “It was caught a bit of a wild night. Woke up where I shouldn't have been.”

Merle bristles at that.

She finishes writing up all her necessary measurements, getting down from the ladder she was using in order to reach John’s head. He quickly puts on the clothes Merle lent him, eager to cover himself up as much as possible again.

“Two three piece suits right? All black?” She asks.

“White dress shirt, if you don't mind. And garters for the socks.”

Merle snorts behind him as his entire wardrobe isn't a fashion nightmare.

“ _Ooookay_ ,” She says. “Hey, Sir Highchurch, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Merle nods and stands just far enough where it wouldn't be weird, but clearly so that John won't her. He sits down at the table and lights a cigarette from a pack he found lying around the house. It's definitely expired, but John doesn't give a shit. Gods, how he's missed tobacco.

He manages to listen in somewhat to the conversation, getting bits and pieces.

“...He's the guy. He's that thing... isn’t he?...” She looks nervous. “...Are you sure about this?”

“He doesn't... any magic anymore. Nada.” Merle waves her off, trying to calm down a situation neither of them had considered. “... Keep this between us, ‘kay?... Don't wanna make anyone nervous...”

They keep talking as Merle pays her and leads her to the door, now too far away for John to hear anything else.

When Merle comes back, he snatches the cigarette from John's mouth and sets it aflame in his hand. John crosses his arms but doesn't protest. Ever the cleric.

“Don't do that shit inside the house. If you're going to, go outside.”

John tucks the rest of the pack into his shirt pocket. “Don’t act as if you don't smoke _other_ plants inside this house.” He gestures at the growing plant of weed not ten feet away from him.

“At least it doesn't smell as bad.”

John pauses, “It also isn’t a great idea for me to step out of the house at the moment, isn't it, Merle?” He narrows his eyes, fingers tapping on the table. Merle looks back at him carefully. It brings back memories.

“You should at least try to stay near it for now. And definitely don't try going into town without me.”

He laughs, “Why? Or else you'll get an angry mob? I'll be hanged? Burned at the stake? Exiled from the community?”

“You know, I know you're not from here, but we got a thing called a fair trial, buddy. None of ‘em end with getting killed.”

“Even for people like me?” John bites back. “What I did, Merle, was unspeakable. There aren't words in Common to describe the horror of my actions. And now I'm nothing. No power, no magic, no control. I am an old, angry man who didn't even want to come here in the first place. Your people may do with me what they please.”

Merle grits his teeth, pointing at him with a wooden finger in sheer anger. “That's it? You've been alive again for over less than forty-eight hours and you're already giving up? Out of all the goddamn people we lost, you've been brought back. To me. I'm tryin’ my fuckin’ best to appease whatever God wanted it that way and to try to help you turn into the man you can be. John, I can't do that if you don't give a shit.”

“But what _can_ I be, Merle? I don't have a purpose anymore. I don't have anything to accomplish. I have nothing.”

“You have me.”

They both settle into an uncomfortable silence. Merle stares on at him and John sinks into his seat, picking at his nails as he tries to look unaffected by the other man's statement.

Merle continues, “Listen, man, you've only been alive for two days. You still have time to find something. It doesn't have to be a huge goal or some sort of vision quest destiny. You don't have to become powerful again. Taako just wants to cook and be with his husband. Magnus just wants to carve wood and help people. I just wanna run Bottlenose Cove and make it as peaceful and nice as possible. They're simple fuckin’ things and they bring so much joy. You don't have to know what that simple thing is right now, John, but whatever it is I wanna help you find it.”

He knows the smile on Merle's face is supposed to comfort him, but it only makes him feel worse. John takes out another cigarette and lights it in front of Merle, not breaking eye contact.

John stands and looks down at him, scowling. “There is nothing for me here, Merle. Not even you’re worth existing for.”

He walks out the door with as much dignity as a man wearing beige shorts can. “I'm going out to smoke,” He says out loud and shuts the door behind him.

It's later in the day, and he walks fast enough from the front door to the beach that no one pays him that much attention. He wonders if he should have worn a hat, or sunglasses of some kind. Then again, he isn't supposed to care.

The nicotine feels like heaven, the first true moment of peace he feels since arriving. The only moments of peace he can recall have both been looking at the beach, except this time the water is rougher and colder, and the sunset has already passed. John makes his way through two cigarettes before he sees the waves rushing to him.

Not in a wave that would sweep him away, no. The water moves deliberately closer with each pulse of its current, trying to reach his feet. John stands and looks at it curiously, unlit cigarette still in his mouth. When it does touch him, it caresses his skin, as if it’s begging him to come closer.

Somehow, that doesn't seem like a terrible idea. It should be, especially in this cold, but there is something about the sea that keeps haunting him. It gave him life, it follows his dreams, it's always at the corner of his eye. The sound of waves washing onto shore is constant in this quiet beach town. The sea has placed him here deliberately, and has forced him to live at it's mercy.

When John starts taking off his clothes, it's automatic. He undresses down to his underwear once more, making sure no one is looking. When he is, he begins to walk towards the water.

It takes him one step before he plunges into the depths of the sea. It was so sudden, so heart stopping, he wonders if this was how it felt like to the beings he devoured.

 

\---

 

John opens his eyes and sees black.

For a moment, he thinks he's back in the Hunger again. Safe, protected, and powerful. Perhaps this was all some sort of dream between consuming lights, but no. This void is quiet and empty and only contains him. John panics and accidentally breathes in. He's covered by water but feels air come into his lungs. Where is he?

His eyes adjust to a blue-green depth. Maybe he died and now he's here, subject to the sea for the rest of eternity for being a fool. He didn't want to do that to Merle, no matter how much he didn’t enjoy existing just yet.

John looks above him and he sees light, it's not too far of a swim. He moves as quickly as possible to try to figure out just what exactly is going on. He rises to the surface, heaving for some reason. As if he wasn't able to breathe this entire time.

“Hello, John,” A feminine voice says.

John turns to face her, still keeping himself afloat in the water. A giant woman sits atop a rock, knitting a scarfs that floats over the water but doesn't look wet in the slightest. She has glowing eyes that look at him with a hollow smile. John knows barely anything about the gods in this world, but it doesn't take him long to know this is one of then, and which one she happens to be.

“You did this,” He says in a moment of disbelief. “You did everything.”

“Yes. You messed up my process quite a bit,” She looks down at her work and badly done stitch appears right where she was working. She snaps her fingers and it disappears, back to a functioning stitch. “It was very hard to figure out what I could do with you to set things right. The worlds you devoured were brought back with the memory of your existence. But you, John, no longer did. When you passed in that beach, you did not die. You were an outlier. My co-workers and I do not enjoy outliers.”

John scowls, “You should have brought me back and left me to die.”

“That wouldn't be a proper punishment, now, would it?”

“So what? My punishment is to live with the only being I care for? That's the best you could come up with?” John laughs. “Not a great move on the part of a god.”

Istus leans closer to him, until her face obscures everything in his peripheral, and it's only her eyes, starting at him with an ever present smile. “No. You will continue with a normal existence. A normal, plain existence that will impact the lives of very few. You said living in horrible, so we have forced you to do the thing you hate the most.”

“I can end it whenever I want. All it takes is a quick swim, a noose, a razor.”

Istus laughs, “I decide the string of your fate, John. An easy way out, as it would be in your case, is not one of them. How easy would it be to untie that stitch... with a snap of my fingers.”

John feels his arms getting exhausted. For the first time in so long, he is terrified. Truly terrified of what he has done, and what this being has sealed for him. She knows so many things he does not. It infuriates him not to be in the know, it almost drives him mad. In another life, he could have stood up against this woman, but now the longer he tries to keep himself afloat, the harder it becomes.

John uses the last bit of strength he has to splash water in her direction, knowing it won't amount to anything beyond the tantrum of an old man.

“I don't want this body! I don't want to die a bitter old man! Please! You can’t do this!”

Istus stops knitting, if only for a moment, and leans her face away from him, back to towering over his minuscule form. “You did this to yourself.”

His arms can no longer keep going. John finds himself drowning, actually drowning. The salt water burns his throat and fills his lungs and all he can do his sink.

 

\---

 

“We gotta stop meeting like this.”

John coughs out the last bit of sea water after vomiting on the sand. Merle hits the small of his back gently with his flesh hand. John hasn't even opened his eyes and he can already imagine the look of disappointment that must fill Merle's own.

 _Finally_ able to breathe again, John settles his head on Merle's lap, allowing the cold night air to form goosebumps all over his skin. Merle notices and takes his hands, the warmth of a spell stopping them from shaking.

John opens his eyes and sees Merle's, grey and tired. There is no inkling of disappointment or anger. Just worry reserved for him. It's even worse. He wishes Merle was furious with him, wishes he would have left him to rot in this beach, but he knows Merle would never let that happen. Merle is full of tenderness and love that John does not know how to trust.

He wants to.

He finds the strength to speak, voice hoarse and strained. “You told me once that, should we be able to meet in infinity, I should find you to tell you how wrong I was.”

Merle tightens his grip on his hands.

“I found you, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Merle Highchurch.”

The man above him stares in silence as he begins to break. John, the once all powerful Hunger, starts to cry because the man that has saved him time and time again — the man he has killed over and over — is holding his hands.

John can't fathom the immensity of such of simple gesture. He doesn't understand the simplicity of joy. Why has he wasted so much time making everything so complicated?

“John, shh. It's alright. It's gonna be fine.”

He sniffs, “Yes. I know. That's why I'm lying here like a blubbering fool. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Merle moves a hand to stroke his hair. John is startled at the touch, no one has ever done that either. Everything feels new.

“Can I take you inside? You're gonna freeze if I keep you out here any longer.”

John then remembers he's still damp and covered in remnants of the sea. He nods, careful not to say anything that would somehow scare Merle off. He's lead inside with Merle's guidance, magically dried and cleaned as the shorter man throws a heated blanket over his shoulders, food already prepared and waiting.

Merle stays by him the entire time, even when he’s finally drifts off out of sheer exhaustion.

If being forced to live is his punishment, his only act of defiance against the gods is to learn how to love it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who gets arrested?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this chapter, though I did manage to sneak in my dnd oc in here. cool.

John gets arrested the very day he decides to start enjoying his life. 

Well, it’s more like he gets detained. 

It starts like this:

John wakes up with the strongest headache he’s ever had thus far. The groan he lets out is almost enough to wake up Merle, who is still asleep on a chair beside the bed, large for a dwarf but regular sized for a human. The sight is almost enough to make him smile, but the pain is far too much for him to do anything but wince. He functions on autopilot, washing and dressing himself, hopign the ache will be gone soon. 

He decides to let Merle have as much rest as he can and fixes himself some coffee and a cigarette, what he considers to be the perfect breakfast. Technically, he should be taking the initiative to eat better and not subside on some of the worst things made for the humanoid body, but he just started to enjoy life about ten hours ago. Baby steps.

From a distance, he hears the doorbell ring  — the estate  _ is _ larger than he expected a hippie dwarf to own, but he guesses Merle indulges as well  — John wonders whether or not it would be the best course of action to answer it. It isn’t, he’s still supposed to stay hidden from the general public. He walks closer to the door, carefully avoiding the view of a window. If it was especially urgent, they would yell for Merle’s name, but he hears footsteps walking away from the wooden porch. John sips on his coffee and sneaks over to a window to see who it could be. Instead, he sees a long, thin box resting on the front hammock.

Expecting what it is, John goes out quickly and snatches it before slamming the door closed. He runs to the table to open it, feeling like a child on Candlenights. It’s his new suit, three of them in fact, pressed and made to perfection. The dwarves of this world work fast and well, their reputation precedes them. Merle paid extra to have copies made, it seems. What sort of spell went into making them?

John changes right then and there, far too eager to get out of his less than appropriate current outfit. Once he changes, he looks at himself on a mirror properly this time. He manages to look for thirty seconds before he can no longer bear it, but the suit is perfect. Black and measured to tightly hug his slender frame. He forgot to ask for a tie yet it was still included. A black and skinny one at that, his favorite kind. The only kind he wore, actually. For the first time in two days, John finally starts to feel comfortable in his own skin. Somewhat.

He checks the wall clock. It's past noon, perhaps it's best he wakes up Merle now.

John takes one step up the stairs before he hears the doorbell ring again. Odd. The tailor must have forgotten something.

John walks to the door, a bit more confidence in his stride. He opens it with a regular smile, only to find a handful of people staring at him in complete, utter rage. 

A large human man, a flamboyantly dressed elf man, his twin sister who is now a litch, and a tall, dark skinned human woman holding a staff. They are all Merle's friends and former co-workers. Glaring knowingly, clearly visiting for one reason: him.

Shit.

John tries to play it off as best he can, “Hello, how may I--”

“Shut up, man. We know who you are, you apocalyptic fuck!” Says the living elf as he throws a small ray of fire in his direction. John dodges it in time and closes the door in a panic, locking it.

“Merle! Help!” John yells out, instinctively checking his new suit to make sure it wasn't damaged. “Merle! Your friends are here!”

Merle comes running down in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, looking just as panicked. “Shit, shit,  _ shitshitshit.” _

The door is slashed in half by the large human, Magnus if he recalls. “I can pay for that later!” He says, tossing the wood to the side like it's made of cardboard. In another life, John would have found it pitifully amusing. Now, he can only gulp.

The group walks over in unison, glaring at the two of them. 

John raises his hand, “Now wait. Hold on. I can explain.” He doesn't get to.

John feels a spell get cast on him. In fact, he feels several. The strongest comes from the female elf twin, who's name he never caught.  It's a  _ hold person _ spell. He tries to counterspell on instinct to no avail. The lack of magic in his new form makes it succeed instantly. He stands paralyzed, glaring at the party that has just joined them. If he could move, he'd grit his teeth.

“What the  _ shit _ , Merle!?” Taako yells, almost in hysterics, much less collected than his sister. “What did you  _ do _ !?”

Merle scratches his beard. “I’m almost flattered that you think I could do something this crazy.”

Magnus huffs, “Aren't you a high cleric? Can't you cast resurrection and shit?!”

“Do I look like I have a fuckin’ huge ass diamond just laying around?!”

“Uh, yeah, dawg. You’re the major. Don’t you do some stuff in a church? You don't have to pay taxes!” The elf woman says, still concentrated on her spell.

“That doesn't mean we get gems on the collection plate!” 

The human woman stomps her staff on the ground, loudly. She has an air of authority that even John can respect, despite being frozen in place. Taako crosses his arms, frustrated that he's told to shut up.

“Enough. Focus, people.” She says, clearly used to saying that before. “Merle, we received word from an informant that you were hiding the man who started the Hunger in your home... Usually, accusations like this, especially again someone with your fame, would be ignored. But this was so highly specific I couldn’t, and it seems they were right.” She sighs and shakes her head, not even sparing John a glance. “What did you do now, Merle?”

“Nothing! I did nothing! He just appeared on my doorstep covered in seawater like he just crawled out of the ocean and I didn't say no. He's been staying here ever since, that's it!”

“That's it? You just  _ happened _ to have the entity we defeated go to your house specifically, the home of the man it...  _ he _ would have trusted the most out of all of us, for no reason?”

Merle raises a finger, “And -- Aaand he doesn't have any magic. Nada. Ziltch. He's just a human dude looking for a second chance. That's it!”

“Why the fuck should we give him a second chance out of all people? You know what he did, everyone on the fucking planet knows!” Taako yells out, the most adamantly against him among the group. 

“Yeah, and we fuckin’ stopped it! And  _ I _ didn’t decide to give him a second chance, he was brought down here by something or someone, man, way beyond my jurisdiction.”

“There are evil gods too, Merle! Get your head out of your bible and your ass!” 

The leader human calmly raises a hand without taking her eyes off Merle, and Taako manages to keep his cool. John notices his elf twin rest a skeletal looking hand over her brother’s shoulder, saying something he doesn’t hear.

“Right, this is... certainly a lot to discuss and take in. Magnus and Lup, please handle this... man before the spell wears off. Everyone, stand near me. Taako, if you will.”

He’s not so kindly pushed closer to the group, still paralyzed and being held tightly by either arm in the case that he would run, which is preposterous, where would he go? He tries to sneer at the fact that his suit sleeves will absolutely be wrinkled after this. 

Taako takes out a piece of chalk from his pocket and starts to draw a large circle with specific runes on the ground around them. Merle seems to open his mouth for a second, but eyes the circle, and grumbles. The human woman still seems to be very deliberately avoiding his gaze as she hands the wizard a medium sized gem. It disappears in his hands in a blue haze, and shortly after, so do they.

 

\---

 

The first thing John does when he’s lead down the hallway of this apparent peacekeeping organization is look outside the window. Beyond the rocky, desolate terrain outside, he can see the curve of the planet he was apparently just on a few seconds ago. Ah, he’s on the planet’s moon. Huh. Alright, John, don’t have a panic attack.

Full fledged factories and off-planet communes, but so far no televisions. The levels of technology this world possesses is so confusing.

“Keep walking,” Says Magnus, pushing him forward a bit. John looks down at his wrists where they’re attached by some sort of half-magical, half-magnetic binding and does as told.

“Woah, hey, chill out. This isn’t like... a prison or anything,” Says the litch woman, who he now just learned is named Lup.

“I know, I just always wanted to say that.”

Taako walks beside Merle and the leader, Lucretia, idly chatting with Merle, who seems to be making small talk in order to make the situation less awkward. It’s hard for it not to be, seeing as they’ve taken the precaution of always having ten other guards walk behind him just in case he somehow momentarily gains the abilities to cause the apocalypse... again.

“So, uh, why didn’t Barry or Davenport come?”

Lucretia hums, “Davenport is still distracted with his sea adventures, apparently. Lup, why didn’t your Barry come?”

She snickers beside him, “Said he didn’t wanna know what this dude’s face really looked like. He bet me five bucks that he was gonna be ugly, though. Heh, looks like Barrold owes me five bucks.”

John straightens as he walk, surprised at the statement, and smiles to himself. Everyone else in the team seems to notice his current smugness.

Magnus laughs, “W-Wait, hold on-- What?”

Taako looks back at his sister with a disgusted look on his face, “You have such a fuckin’ weird taste in dudes.”

She shrugs. Merle seems to be smiling to himself, still looking ahead as he walks.

The rest of the conversation continues about people he doesn’t know or entirely care about. John takes the liberty of looking around at the entirety of the huge buildings, glass hallways and domes separating the different sections of the Bureau. There are many workers patrolling around the area that walk by, staring at him in momentary confusion followed by sudden recognition. The reactions he gets vary from fear, to hatred, to disgust. John looks back at all of them with the same expression for each and everyone: utter apathy.

He’s still taking baby steps, after all. For now, he only has enough care and worry in his heart for one being. He cares little about other people’s opinion on him. 

They finally stop at one section of the Bureau that feels more serious than the rest. Whereas the other buildings and sections felt like inviting areas of important research, this feels more like a detainment center. At least that’s the word he hears used. Might as well just call it a small prison and not this ridiculous euphemism, but he assumes they have to maintain the air of a peacekeeping organization above all.

John raises an eyebrow, “What exactly do you plan to do with me?”

Lucretia stops at a metal door and taps it twice with her staff and it slides open at the touch. John glances in and sees an interrogation room. Of course.

“I think it’s quite self-explanatory,” She says.

John lets out a hollow laugh, “It really isn’t.”

At the sight, Merle tries to stand between them. It’s oddly adorable, considering he’s at least two feet taller than the man and the woman in front of him is a foot taller than John. “Don’t I get an explanation too? I mean, I get it. You’re all paranoid that he’s gonna be secretly evil and has been hidin’ his dark powers this entire time or whatever, but I can assure you he isn’t. Look at him, he’s just a  _ guy _ . Couldn’t hurt a fly, right John?”

John gives them all an awkward smile that is met with total ambivalence, even by Merle. “He’s correct, I no longer have access to any of my formal magic or any of my... previous power. You destroyed everything about it. I confess that my resurgence in this world was as much as a surprise to me as much as it is for you.”

Taako snorts, “Fuckin’ of course he’s called  _ John _ .”

John gives him a look. Taako sticks out his tongue.

Lucretia holds the door open and thinks for a moment. “Taako, real quick. Could you detect if he really has any magic?”

“Do I really have to keep wasting my spell slots?”

“I’m saving mine  _ just _ in case.”

Magnus whistles, “Yeah. Intimidate him! I dig it.”

Lup speaks up, “I’ll fucking do it.” She waves a hand in front of John, apparently casting her spell. John feels a very subtle wave of energy run through his body, gone as quickly as it came. When it’s gone, the litch looks surprised, her face turning into it’s skeletal form as she’s too distracted to keep the illusion up. “He’s... huh. He’s telling the truth. No magic in him, not even beginner magic. Not even a level one.”

John allows himself to look smug again, but then remembers he’s the least powerful man in the room, surrounded by very powerful mages and fighters. It humbles him quite quickly.

“Told you I wasn’t lying,” Merle grumbles.

“Yes... Merle, wait outside with the rest. Feel free to wander around the grounds. John and I need to have a talk.”

Magnus perks up, “You sure you don’t need some protection?”

Lucretia laughs, keeping eye contact with John as he walks inside. “No, I think I’ll be fine. Besides, as you said, he’s just a guy.”

John sits down, bound hands placed on the table in front of him. He watches the heavy door close slowly, watching as Merle follows his companions somewhere else. The door closes behind the Madam Director before he can see if Merle spares him a glance. 

John feels a new emotion he forgot existed. Humiliation. John sits across the table from this woman, with enough power to have him imprisoned and alone for the rest of his life, and suddenly feels very small.

 

\---

 

“You can interrogate me all you want, I have absolutely nothing to lose. But if you ruin this suit I might just lose it.”

Lucretia smiles, “Lose it and... then what? I could turn you into a goldfish right now if I wanted to.”

“Oh, you have polymorph?”

“ _ True  _ polymorph, to be exact.”

John tuts, “Never learned that spell, I think.”

Lucretia raises an eyebrow at that. “You think? Do you not recall your life before the Hunger?”

John leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. “Right, this  _ is _ an interrogation... I recall my previous life somewhat, some bits and pieces. When I was one with the Hunger, I had memories and voices of  _ all  _ the planes that became a part of me. Now that it’s gone, I have the memory of a normal man. It’s hazy at best.”

“Do you have any of the memories you took in your previous form?”

John shudders at the thought. “No, thank the gods. All I remember is the feeling.”

“And what feeling was that?”

John widens his eyes, an inkling of a memory returning to him ever so briefly. “Infinity.” When it leaves, he winces, the echo of the headache he had this morning returning to him. He tries to hold his temple but his hands are stuck to the table. “It hurts to think about now. Quite literally.”

Lucretia stares at him for a moment. Maybe she's thinking about what to say, or wondering how a being like him got so pathetic. John closes his eyes, waiting for the pain to subside.

“Here's what we're going to do, John. I originally brought you here with the intention of arresting and keeping you under the oversight of the Bureau for... a very long time. This entire organization still exists because of the destruction you caused, which we are trying to fix. Entire towns and cities are gone, planes of reality have been removed from existence, even nearby planets require our assistance. When I found out you were alive, I was livid, if I'm honest. I thought we failed. Yet... you now exist quietly. Harmless.”

“I had a change of heart.”

She tilts her head, “When you were brought back?”

“No,” He thinks of Merle's touch. “It started before that.”

“...I am still undecided on whether or not imprisonment is the direction I'll go for. I am going to ask you some questions, John. I hope you can answer them all truthfully.”

John nods, what else can he do?

Lucretia leans forward, setting her arms on the table so she can have a closer look at him. Disarm him. “What are you doing in our planet?”

“I was brought here three days ago. I came out from the ocean right beside Merle's home. I have no intentions other than living.”

“Do you know who brought you here?”

“I was brought here by one of your gods, Istus. She spoke to me yesterday, in fact. Ironically enough, my powerless, normal existence is already supposed to be my punishment.”

Lucretia gives him a look of disbelief. She pauses and speaks to her staff, which is resting on the table beside her. “Killian, could you contact a High Priest of Istus for me?”

A rough, feminine voice comes from the staff, “Uh, sure thing. What for, if I may ask?”

“Tell them to ask their god about a man called John and his return to verify her involvement. Report to me with an answer A.S.A.P.”

“Roger,” And the call is dropped. Again, the technology here never ceases to amaze him. She returns her attention to him.

“Why do you believe you were brought to Merle specifically?”

John can't help but chuckle, “Maybe it's because he's one of the only people on your planet and plane that wouldn't kill me on sight.” His voice trails, knowing Lucretia expects a straight answer. “Merle and I grew close during our parlays, even if I didn't want us to. He was my only friend during my last life. Perhaps Istus knew that and used it to mock me.”

John studies her face. She seems collected but deliberately trying to keep herself expressionless as possible. “How close did you and Merle become in the parlays, exactly?”

He smirks, “My, my... I was under the impression that Merle told your group everything we did in the parlay room. Maybe he left out the saucier details?”

She raises an eyebrow, unaffected by his coyness. John leans back again. 

“I assure you all we did was talk and play chess. He interrogated me, sort of, I did the same to him. He... was the factor that changed my mind. He changed everything.”

Lucretia hums in thought and stays quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. John picks at the skin on his fingers to remind himself it exists, still feeling the ghost of Merle's touch on his hands. Here's another emotion he forgot: anxiety. That’s one he definitely didn't miss.

She speaks to her staff once more. “Carl, can you come over to interrogation cell A?”

“On my way, boss.”

“Sending over the muscle to kick the shit out of me?”

“Heavens, no. If I wanted to do that I would just call Magnus. I just need a very specific spell for this last part to make sure you’re  _ completely  _ cooperating.”

A few minutes pass and the door slides open with the snap of the Director's fingers after a knock. A tan human with a long mullet comes in wearing very purple, very bedazzled bard clothing and holding a golden lyre. 

“Oh, is that the guy? Not what I expected him to look like.”

John frowns, tired on all the assumptions of his looks because he just  _ happened  _ a grim specter of death and destruction. “What exactly did people expect me to look like, then?”

Carl is taken a back for a moment, not expecting to hear him speak. “Well, most people thought you would be, like, uglier.”

Lucretia lets out a long suffering sigh at the smug look that must be back on his face. “I am going to ask you questions and you are going to answer as quickly as possible. Each and every one. The less we have to spend in this cell, the better.”

John smirks, already tired of this game. “Honest answers too, I’m guessing.”

“That won't be a problem for you.” Lucretia says and snaps her fingers. The bard seems to get the message without a word and strums his lyre in a gentle, repeating tune. All of the smugness in John's face leaves as he realizes this is the first time he's heard any sort of music in so, so long. He clenches his jaw and stares at the table, feeling a lump in his throat.

He clears it, “Zone of truth?”

The bard eyes the Director and stops playing. She nods, “Of course. Best interrogation spell there is. That will be all, Carl.”

The young man leaves and the two of them are once again left alone.

“Merle told me that's his favorite spell.”

“He's good at it, but his presence might cloud your judgment, and his own.” Lucretia says, letting the implications simmer in his mind. “Do you remember your full name, John?”

He sighs, feeling the faint energy of the spell linger around his vocal cords. “No. Only John, and even then I'm not entirely sure it's right.”

“Did you have a family before you became the Hunger?”

“No. I don't think so.” He answers, rather quickly.

“Do you want to be on our planet?”

John decides his words carefully. “I... want to learn how to enjoy life.”

Lucretia has none of it. “That's not an answer to my question.”

“I have no opinion on this planet. I have no opinion on any other planet or plane. There is only one thing about this planet that I truly care about.” 

“Is that Merle?”

John grits his teeth, knowing there’s no way he could lie about this. She already knows. How many of them do? “Yes.”

“Do you have any ulterior motives for Merle?”

He clears his throat, “Please elaborate.”

“Do you plan to use him to gain something?”

He laughs, “no.”

“Do you plan on using his social status to gain favor and power?”

“Nope.”

“Do you plan on pursuing magic once again in the future?”

John actually considers that one. He misses having magic, or rather he misses not being at the mercy of so many so easily. It would be nicer to have some leverage against all of Merle's powerful friends. By the gods, he doesn't want to go to bardic college again, though. “I’m undecided.”

“Would you like to live apart from Merle someday?”

“I... hope not,” he blurts out. 

“Do you think your relationship with Merle has affected his judgement when it comes the actions you took and the pain you caused?”

What a loaded question. John looks down at his hands.

“Yes. It has. He has shown me more kindness that I ever deserved. I killed him so many times. I was cruel, I destroyed so many planes he grew to loved.” He's rambling, but it's the first time he'd ever said these things aloud. It might be the last time he ever can to someone who will listen. “I thought myself so high and mighty and yet this man embraced me in my last lucid moments. He put me in my place and I never listened until the very last second. I used my last words to tell him how to defeat me. If I was going to die, it wanted it to be by his hand.”

Lucretia says nothing, fingers laced at her chest, watching the man who caused her so much pain crumble in front of her with the simple mention of a name. 

He wanted so deeply to feel strong again, even in front of her. There is a deeply rooted fear in him that Merle is somehow watching him right now, thinking he’s weak. He has already seen John sob, he doesn't want it to happen again. John does not cry, but he does tremble where he sits, hands unconsciously try to escape their bindings. He wishes he could bury his head in his palms, but he's left exposed in front of his former ruination.

How humbling.

“He was right,” Lucretia says after some silence.

John raises his head.

“You are melodramatic.” 

She stands up and begins to walk to the door. John tries to do the same, forgetting his current situation. “What are you going to do with me?”

“You'll know eventually.”

“Are you going to leave me here? I need to see him again, at least one more time. Please.”

Lucretia looks back at him and closes the door without an answer.

John slumps back to his chair, defeated. Was this the fate Istus had in store for him? A glimmer of joy only to be taken away. Of course, that's what happens with joy. It's always finite.

John curses himself for crawling back to his old bad habits. No, he has to choose joy, even the inkling of it that remains.

He closes his eyes and hums the only bit of music he's had the grace of hearing. It's a short song, John doesn't want it to end. He hums it in a loop and the joy comes and goes along with it. This repeats, and repeats, and repeats.

 

\---

 

“John?”

He feels the touch of a hand on the back of his head. John rises his head from the table, the sharp pain in his head returning. He closes his eyes again, hoping that if he sleeps it’ll leave once more. The taste of water reaches his lips, John panics at the taste, and tries to smack the cup away. His hands are still bound. Every other experience that involves him waking up to water have left a mark on him.

John spits it out, “No!”

Everyone stares at him, confused.

Merle huffs, “Just making sure you weren't dehydrated but alright.” 

John tries to catch his breath as he looks at his surroundings, remembering. Right. 

“Sorry, I... I was dreaming.”

Lucretia undoes his restraints with a jerk of her staff. John rubs his wrists and takes a sip of water on his own. He likes it better when he can control the amount that goes into his body, he's already drowned to many times to take any chances.

As the Director begins speaking, everyone in the group diverts their attention to her, eagerly awaiting his verdict. “John, after much deliberation and thought, the B.O.B has decided not to imprison you. I have found no reason why you could be considered a threat, and you have shown clear interest in diverging completely from your previous path.”

Taako looks visibly annoyed at the decision. 

“But your presence in the outside world will cause... complications in our work. Rumors have already spread about your return, as has panic. We will need time to control these rumors and set things straight.”

Beside him, Merle places a hand over his arm, squeezing.

“In the meantime, I have decided to place you under house arrest, under the custody of Merle Highchurch for your protection and our own peace of mind. You are not to leave the property until I say so. If you do, we will know, and you will be brought back to the Bureau for immediate consequences. Do you accept these charges?”

John places a hand over Merle, returning the gesture. 

“Yes, I do.”

Without warning, Lucretia points her staff at his forehead. A sudden warmth appears over his skin and disappears. He touches it and feels nothing that indicates it left a mark, but the arcane energy remains.

“You put an alarm spell on his  _ skin _ ?” Lup says, laughing slightly.

“That's why I was saving my spell slots.”

Merle ignores the other's conversation and looks him over, “You alright?”

“Yes. I am now. Just... tired. I've been awfully tired these days.”

“Well, you got all the time in the world to keep hogging my bed,” Merle whispers, with a dozen implications neatly wrapped into one sentence.

“I'm not against sharing,” John says, a smile beginning to curve his lips. “Well, not the mattress, at least.”

“Are you two seriously flirting  _ right  _ after we just put him on house arrest?” Magnus interrupts. John sighs and returns his attention to the Director.

“I assume you will escort us home?” He asks her.

She nods and beacons him to stand beside her. John does, watching while Merle says his goodbyes. He gets a hug from Magnus that lifts him up from the ground, and a smaller hug from Lup. She promises to tell all of this to her partner. Taako sets his feelings for John aside and grants him a half-hearted goodbye, but the promise of seeing his friend soon makes the corner of his lip tilt into a subtle smile. 

John directs his attention to an empty wall. It was a moment so intimate and kind that he felt like an intruder.

The three of them are teleported back to Merle’s estate, the comforting and terrifying sounds of waves hitting the shore a constant once more. Even with his humming, he didn’t realize how quiet the cell was, as was the void he had been part of for so long. Silence is just as unbearable as infinity.

“Well, that just happened,” Says Merle. “Uh, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him, Lucretia. Don’t worry.”

She gives him a gentle smile, like one you’d give to a child. “I know you will. Could you excuse me and John for a moment? I have a few parting words.”

He glances at John, then back at her. John gives him a nod, there’s no need to worry. Satisfied at that, Merle walks to the kitchen, “I’ll be over here if you need me! Pan, I need a drink.”

John turns to Lucretia, “I... never got the opportunity back there to thank you for allowing me to be here, with him. I know you didn’t do it for my sake.”

She looks down at him, a serious expression on her face. John is currently painfully aware at the difference in height and power. “I assume I don’t have to give you the shovel talk. You know what will happen if you hurt him.”

He doesn’t, but he nods and pretends, giving her a nervous smile. “Of course.”

“Johnny, you want a drink? I make a mean floating island iced tea!” Merle yells from the kitchen.

Lucretia steps back, gives him a small nods, and teleports away in a glimmer of blue light. John undoes his tie and takes off his suit jacket, resting it on the table.

“Sure, why not?” He says aloud, then glances at the outside view. The water is serene, and it no longer calls for him. 

He takes the drink Merle offers and sips, the forgotten taste of alcohol welcomed on his lips. “Huh, Merle, I just realized something.”

“Shit, what?”

John laughs, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He places a hand over his mouth, an unconscious habit he forgot he had whenever he laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to show off my new suits for a while.”

Merle laughs along with him, a hearty, loud one to contrast his own. They clink their glasses together and drink as he asks Merle to tell him about everything, anything at all. It all feels achingly normal. John feels himself melting into the world around him. A gentle rain falls over the sea. A pool of stagnant water begins to flow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man has needs. One of them is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. so. here's 10k words of just sex. i mean there's character development as well but it's just 95% smut. because merle is hot and fucks. and john is hot and sad. you're welcome everyone.
> 
> if you don't want sex and just some plot, skip to the paragraph that begins with "Thankfully, after almost two weeks" till the scene break and then "It doesn’t take long for Merle to cum" and read till the end. 
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated! <3
> 
>  **warnings for this chapter** : slight body dysmorphia, brief unhealthy sexual thoughts
> 
> also, i'm a trans man who uses "feminine" terms for my genitalia and think merle would too. the words clit/cunt are used. warning just in case.

John wakes up with a headache again.

He groans, burying his face deeper against the soft surface beside him. It's not the kind of headache he had before, definitely not caused by the existential horror of the recent nights. No, John licks his lips and tastes alcohol. He sniffs, and smells the strong scent of flowers and cheap cologne.

Oh.

John pulls his head back slowly and sees messy, long hair pressed against his chest, his cleric still fast asleep. When John tries to move his arm, he realizes one is trapped and numb beneath Merle's head, and the other is holding his chest.

Oh no.

John can pinpoint the exact moment he feels his heart beat at the speed of light  — well, not exactly, he knows how that feels like  — and tries to keep his calm. Alright, John, assess the situation. 

Merle is wearing an unbuttoned shirt and underwear but not his pants. John is down to his dress shirt, now wrinkled to hell, his briefs, socks, and sock garters. He remembers drinking a lot the night before, but it was all while the two of them were talking. Perhaps his memories got fuzzier the later it became.

He's also painfully aware that he's half-hard, pressed against Merle's thigh, and breathing a bit too raggedly for it to be considered calm.

You could say it's been a while.

He whispers into Merle's ear, trying to wake him up gently. “Merle,” he says, voice still rough from waking up, “Wake up. You have things to do.” He actually isn't sure if he does, but he doubts Merle would remember anyway.

The smaller man whines, “Do I?” He asks, voice just as rough. John feels the skin behind his neck grow hotter.

“I think so.” John tries to keep himself as still as possible, but Merle stretches against him and settles back to his previous position. John can feel his cock suffer, or perk up, at the sudden friction. He pulls his hips back slightly and clenches his jaw.

“Shit, the fuck did we do last night?” Merle rubs his eyes and puts on his glasses. John can't see his expression, but he can see him lowering his head then stare straight ahead, frozen for a second. John can feel the faint sensation of Merle's heartbeat as well, growing faster with each momentary realization. They’re dressed down, sleeping together, and with a hazy recollection of the previous night.

John clears his throat, “I'm... not sure.”

They both fall silent, awkwardness filling the air around them.

It's a very good thing Merle doesn't face him when he speaks, “Hey, John, did we...”

“Sleep together?” He adds.

“Well, yeah, we did  _ that _ but... uh, did we fuck?”

John almost chokes on his own spit as he hears Merle say such a common word in his vocabulary in  _ that _ context. “I don't... I don't actually know.”

Merle groans, “God damn, hold on. This wouldn’t be the first time...” 

Merle, with an arm still wrapped around his body because John’s to nervous to move an inch, shoves a hand into his underwear right then and there. John looks away, face burning.

He laughs and wipes his hand on his underwear. “Hey, if we did, at least you used a condom. Or it fucking... dried but I don’t feel anything down there.”

John rests his head against Merle's let down, dreaded hair again. “Oh dear gods...”

“There’s also the possibility that we just got drunk, we fell asleep, and it was hot out. Don't worry about it. Why even worry? It was gonna happen eventually!” 

John shakes his head, voice muffled by Merle's hair. “I didn't want it to be like this...”

“What, you wanted it to be all candles and soft music? Buddy, my first time was getting fingered at Pan Camp behind a cabin. I got low expectations.”

John snorts, face probably a deep red by now. “I can't remember my first time, but I’m going to assume it was pretty boring.”

“Exactly. What's a drunk fuck gonna do? You know what, it's good! That just means it can only get better from here on out.” Merle’s enthusiasm almost makes up for the fact that John can't exactly get the image Merle implanted in his head just seconds ago. He hums in thought.

“Yes it can... We have the time,” John says quietly. Carefully. 

He can  _ hear  _ the smirk in Merle's voice, “I thought you told me I had things to do.”

John's extends his hand over Merle’s chest, fingertips grazing against deeply tan skin and light hair. Silently, he trails it lower, stopping when he feels the softness of Merle's stomach. “I don't know. Do you?”

Merle’s breath hitches, “U-Uh, maybe.”

At the inkling of nervousness from the other man, John feels himself grow bolder. “Flustered already, Merle? What are you thinking about? I was only asking if you have something urgent to attend to, or if you can stay-’ John lowers his hand until he feels the edge of his briefs- “right. here.”  

John wants to touch him more than anything. Wants to feel Merle completely. Making Merle feel good could be a penance. He feels Merle takes his hand with wooden fingertips and trail it lower, the only sounds around them is their breathing -- Merle's is steady, John’s shakes -- and he feels his fingers graze against soft hair and slick.

Merle spread his thighs apart a little, “Go ahead, baby.”

John heart races at the pet name and he slips two fingers between Merle's lips, grazing his clit and entrance as a string of memories come back to him. The sense of heat on his skin, the gasps of the person beneath him, the urgent bucks and squirming that they can't control as John holds them steady. The image of Merle behaving the same way is stuck in his mind, and he finds himself completely intoxicated by it.

John spends a few moments feeling Merle, fingers recollecting memories by every bit of heated flesh he can touch, before the smaller man speaks up, “You forget how to do this?”

John takes the opportunity to move his fingers on Merle's large clit, feeling it grow harder, pressing down gently and slowly but enough to make Merle moan. “How could I forget to do something as wonderful as this?”

Merle groans as John teases a finger over his hole, noticing how wet he is already. John finds himself overwhelmed by his options. He wants to eat Merle out until he's shaking, he wants to slide his cock inside him and feel him  _ completely _ , but he settles for his fingers for now, ignoring his arousal for now and pushing inside Merle. The cleric swears under his breath and bucks his hips. John takes it as a queue to move.

“Fucking... keep going. Pan, John.” He feels Merle move down into his finger, clearly not enough at all. He wonders if it's been a while for Merle as well. “Forgot how different human hands felt... shit, you got big hands.”

John chuckles at that and tries to add another, his palm pressing against Merle's clit as much as he can to make the other man whine. Of  _ course _ he's loud. There certainly is a difference in the size of their hands, as Merle gasps and moans at two fingers, a free hand grabbing his arms. “T-Think I'm good with two for now. Shit.” 

John moves faster, pressing his body against Merle to be as close as possible. It would be so easy to spread Merle's legs further apart and fuck him right here, but this isn't about John's pleasure right now. He crooks his fingers and finds Merle's g-spot, smiling at the sweet noises that come from the man holding on to him. He wonders if he could take more, he bets he can. Next time. Just hearing him, feeling every part of Merle is enough to last lifetimes.

“I should have done this earlier,” Whispers John. “I should have had you in the parlay room. Imagine the things I could have done for you, with all my power.” 

Merle let’s out a small whimper. John clenches his jaw, trying to use all of his self control not to growl at the sound. He wants to hear it over and over. “John...”

“Yet there’s so much I can do right here.” John can feel Merle getting close, the sound of him panting almost drives him mad. “What do you want me to do, Merle Highchurch?”

“Fuckin’ Pan, John. That's good. I...” Merle slips into dwarvish, holding on to his pillow and tilting his head to the side to allow John to kiss him, taste of alcohol still on their lips but neither of them can bring themselves to care. Merle shifts his body until his back is against the mattress, desperately trying to lower his briefs until they’re hanging off his ankles and spreads his legs further apart, making it easier for John to get deeper. His fingers are absolutely covered in Merle’s slick. John’s mind fills with the curiosity of what it must taste like and moans into Merle’s mouth, grinding his still clothed cock on Merle’s thigh. Merle feels him and pulls apart from the kiss, eyes half-lidded like he’s in a daze, and presses his face to John’s chest. “Pan, oh  _ Pan _ .”

John groans, “Not quite.”

Merle cums with a moan, repeating John’s name like some sort of prayer. John decides he very much likes it when Merle says his name, especially like this. He will never tire of it. Merle’s wooden arm is still gripping his bicep, no doubt causing bruises, but he doesn’t care. John pulls his fingers out of Merle’s cunt and tastes them, ending up licking them clean. 

John wipes his face, feeling a few flower petals fall from his skin and hair, then notices they’re covering Merle’s pillow. He knows the cleric’s hair and beard grows flowers from time to time, it must be more intense when he’s overwhelmed. John smiles at the sight and leans down once more to kiss Merle’s cheek. 

“Are you alright?”

Merle, still catching his breath, nods with a soft smile. “Pretty good, you could say.” He stretches his legs and arms, “Need a shower, though. And to wash my fucking teeth.”

John laughs, feeling quite sticky himself. And still hard, but he doesn’t mention that. The fact doesn’t escape Merle though, who reaches for his underwear. The touch is... a bit too much. John clears his throat, “It’s alright, Merle. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I  _ will _ worry about it. Come on, I gotta do something in return.”

Merle hooks his finger under the band of John’s briefs, lowering one corner gently. John holds his hand. “I... In time, Merle. Not now.”

Merle pulls his hand away, giving him a worried look. “Alright, sure.”

John will deal with the discomfort later, but it’s too much. Far too much right now to have Merle touch him that way. He doesn’t deserve it. He can deal with his hands and mouth just fine, but somehow the fantasy of anything else is much better than the reality. He doesn’t want Merle to watch him lose control after he’d tried to hard to regain it. 

“You wanna take a shower together?”

John opens his eyes after trying to think of the worst possible horrors of the universe to get his cock to calm down. It thankfully does, somewhat, only half-hard now. Still a pain, but not as much of a worry. 

John stands up to wash his teeth, hoping to at least get it clean before he dives into a morning smoke. “You go ahead, I can wait.”

Merle doesn’t hide the disappointment in his face, but doesn’t say anything to question it. 

He glances at the planner that’s laying on the bedside table and screeches. 

“Let me guess, you  _ did _ have something to do?” John asks, mouth full of toothpaste.

“I had a town meeting  _ ten fucking minutes ago!” _

John shakes his head and laughs as he watches Merle rush to the shower, combining prestidigitation and soap to clean himself as quickly as possible. When he runs out, John is already smoking beside an open window, clean after a cold shower and a robe he borrowed from Merle’s closet. Merle gives him a small kiss on the cheek before rushing off. How domestic.

He’s left alone in this oddly grand estate, with a dozen plants that feel like they’re staring at him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they’re jealous.

John flicks his cigarette to a nearby trashcan and huffs. He’ll be alone for house and on house arrest, might as well jerk off. 

  
  


\---

 

Even with the desire to not allow Merle to see him out of control, John has... needs. Their first foray in Merle's bed only reminded John how much he missed having sex, specifically how much he liked making his partner feel good. To think a being like him, so entrapped in the cruelty and horror of existence, could start to find such enjoyment in little things. Such as cigarettes, helping Merle water his plants, books, and making someone cum in his mouth.

John has grown to like that last one very much.

House arrest can be quite boring when he's alone. Being the mayor, or earl, of a town is actually pretty demanding, most morning and evenings have resulted in John trying to distract himself until Merle comes home. He reads, he tries his hand at cooking and does not do very well, he plays Merle’s terrible youth camp guitar... hell, he even tries to talk to the plants, but they don't seem to like him very much. Merle has been trying to teach him how to detect their emotions and he’s gathered they all like to glower at him like disappointed family members watching the youngest's new shitty boyfriend. They're not wrong, but they could at least try to warm up to him.

John’s day doesn't begin until he sees Merle again. Most days he's tired and just wants a drink, and John learned recently that he remembered how to make pretty mean cocktails. The day usually ends with them talking, Merle catching him up in all his adventures, and John getting Merle off so he can fall asleep easily, then he goes to the shower to finish himself off with a sense of guilt and self-loathing. It isn't perfect, but it works for now. John has always enjoyed patterns and schedules.

On the blissful days when Merle  _ actually _ has nothing to do, John gets to play.

He presses a light kiss to the inside of Merle's thigh and smiles at the sight in front of him. Merle’s hair is down, long and laying over his shoulders, a sight so rare to the rest of the world and so wonderfully common for John. His skin is hot, and his breathing heavy just by the sight of John's face between his thighs. He hasn't even gotten close to Merle's cunt but he wants to see if he can make him squirm. John runs a tongue over the soft skin beside his labia. Merle huffs.

“What’cha waitin’ for?” He attempting to spread his legs a bit farther, but John holds them steady.

“Nothing at all. Just admiring you.” Not taking his eyes off Merle’s, he presses his thumb to his hard clit gently, moving it in circles. “I spend so much time in the parlay room looking at you but never  _ seeing  _ you properly. You have gorgeous eyes.”

Merle nods, slightly distracted by the teasing. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“And such a nice voice, skin so soft, you always smell like flowers.” John moves his face closer to Merle's lips, licking a small stripe over them before spreading them apart. “And you taste wonderfully. What's your secret?”

Merle gulps, “I eat a lot of fruits. And uh... oils. Use those a bunch.”

“Such a messy,  _ messy _ man yet so well kept in a sense.” John lowers his fingers to feel how wet the other man is and smiles, taking one finger to his mouth to suck clean. “You've been cleaning up more lately, even organized your closet. Could it be all for me?”

John feels Merle shift his hips ever so slightly, clenching his hole at nothing. He unconsciously licks his lips before he answers, John stays still until he does. “Yeah. All for you.”

John grins, “Good boy.” He lowers his head and wraps his mouth around Merle’s clit, tongue pressing and sucking on the desperate member, as Merle closes his eyes and tilt his head back in total bliss. 

Merle runs his fingers over John's hair, holding it but not yet pulling. “Jeez, no one’s called me that in decades.”

John pulls his face away for a moment and licks his lips, “Do you not like it?” He asks, genuinely, pressing a finger to Merle's entrance in the meantime.

“Fuck -- Yeah. I mean, no. I-I like it. I dig it.” Merle stumbles over his words as John goes back to work, now able to slide two fingers inside Merle with ease as he eats him out. Merle hitches his hips up, eager for more, but it doesn't take much for John to hold him down with his free hand, despite Merle being physically stronger than himself. 

John can't help but give an experimental thrust against the mattress, his own cock desperate for friction. A feeling he’s grown familiar with but it's getting harder to ignore. Enough that John finds himself moving against the bed at the same time as his fingers move inside Merle's cunt. The cleric notices, he can tell. John feels both of Merle's hand tug on his hair, groaning. “Oh fuck, that's it baby.”

John lets out a whimper at that, the first he's let out in a very long time. All for Merle, only for Merle. He closes his eyes, moving his fingers faster and slipping in a third as Merle pulls on his hair even more. Like a game of tug-o-war, who can make the other break first.

“You like that?” Merle asks, places suddenly inverted in a way John didn't expect. John moans against Merle's clit, nodding, eyes watching him intently as his jaw works wonders against him. Merle pants at the sudden fullness of three fingers, he knows he can get off on two easily but John wants to put up an equal challenge. Merle grits his teeth, pushing John’s face against his cunt. “Come on, Johnny. Faster, baby.”

John obliges, forcing his hips to stop moving as Merle’s own won't stop squirming. If he had his magic again, he could easily hold him down, a dozen tendrils at once making Merle feel like he's going to the celestial plane. What a gorgeous sight that would be. He curls his fingers inside Merle and whines at the sudden pain in his scalp. Merle grabs him by his hair and keeps his head steady. John opens his mouth and accepts everything, never closing his eyes as Merle crumbles against him.

If this is living, he will gladly settle into living for the gift of this view alone.

“ _ Pan _ , John. Every fuckin’ time...” Merle realizes he's still holding John by his hair and lets go, now rubbing gentle circles to the places he tugged.

John rises and sticks out his tongue, finding a rogue flower petal. “I win.”

Merle wipes John's face with his discarded shirt and raises an eyebrow, “I dunno, do you? ‘Cause I'm the one who got a happy ending.”

John already knows where this is going and rolls his eyes, sitting up in front of Merle, “I told you, I'm fine.” John shifts his hips at the discomfort, knowing he's very much not fine with his self-inflicted blue balling.

“Can you at least tell me why? We've fucked like... what, ten times now, and I still haven’t seen your dick! Do you not like being touched?”

John shakes his head, knowing they were going to have to talk about this sooner or later but  _ dear gods _ he didn't want it to be like this, in this state. “No, it’s not that. I like touching you, Merle, very much.”

“Then let me return the favor!”

John stammers, hating this moment of vulnerability he's found himself in. “I-I don't--” 

“It just makes me feel like shit. Like you don't want me or something. Pan, I feel like a fuckin’ teenager.” Merle scratches his hair, looking down.

John holds Merle's hands between his hands, making him look into his eyes. How foolish has he been? “Merle, let me make one thing clear. I want you. I want you more than anything. And now that I have you I don't want to lose you, but I don't deserve that kind of kindness.”

“What? The kindness of touching your cock? Fucking shit, John. Why do you have to make everything so deep. I just wanna get you off.” 

Merle starts to get closer, John doesn't stop him this time but the sudden, anxious rush in his heart does not leave. “It's been very long since anyone has done that for me...” He says carefully.

“Just lie back and let me make you feel good, baby. Please?” Merle’s voice is low, full of want John doesn't understand. It's so easy for him to feel want, but full, total reciprocation is still something that John didn't expect and didn't know he wanted. “Not everything has to be a penance.” 

He pauses, “...Okay.”

John is pushed back on the bed against the pillows. Merle settles beside him, on his knees so he can reach John's face for a kiss. He wonders if Merle can taste himself on his lips. John shivers at the thought. 

“Just touch.” He says, Merle hand on his navel, moving lower. His breathing stops, eyes alternating between Merle's hand on the band of his briefs and his face. “Touch me.”

It comes out more needy that he expected, but it makes Merle smile. He gets another lazy kiss, focusing on the tickle of Merle's beard against the side of his face as the man finally lowers his underwear. 

“Alright, John, let's fuckin--  _ Holy Pan _ .” 

John looks down at his cock then back at Merle, “What?”

“Been a while since I've actually seen a human dick.”

John grins, “I’d think considering size if some of those plants you grow you'll have no trouble at all.”

John kisses his cheek and feels Merle's face grow hot. “Shut up.”

He doesn't notice when Merle takes his cock, thankfully not using his wooden arm. Part of John wants to bury his face in Merle's hair and not have to worry about the sight of his own body but he can't look away. Merle hand wraps around the shaft, his hand can wrap around his cock but only covers less than half of it. At the reminder of the size difference, John feels himself buck his hips up once. Merle smirks, “Yeah, that's it. That feel good?”

John gasps, unable to answer as Merle begins to move his hand up and down his cock, twisting his wrist and even going up to lick his palm with expert ease. This was a feeling completely forgotten. The total touch of someone else. The drag of skin against his cock, the hot breath of someone else against him  John feels his usually perfectly combed back hair cover part of his face but can't move his hands up to do something about it. Merle has him wrapped his finger, or his palm, completely entranced 

“Merle...” .

“Yeah?”

“Faster,” He begs. “Please...”

John must look totally debauched, as Merle turns to face him he's met with widened eyes. John closes his own, focuses completely on the feeling. Merle does as begged, stroking his cock faster and pumping out more pre-cum than John knew he had. 

“Oh, Merle... That feels divine.” He moans, eyes still closed as Merle runs a finger over his shaft. 

“I got the divine touch, baby.” 

John lets out an embarrassing whimper at Merle's wording once more. Always that damned word. 

Merle chuckles, “Oh. You  _ really _ like that, don't ya?” 

John grinds his teeth, hips thrusting up to Merle’s grip desperately. “Keep talking. I-I want to hear your voice.”

Merle takes a moment to think of what the say, only the sound of his hand moving up and down his cock and John's ragged breathing filling the room before he speaks into his ear. “Remember when you said in a parlay that you must look beautiful as the hunger? I think you look beautiful like this. You’re all red, Johnny. You like being praised?”

John digs his fingernails into Merle's shoulders, nodding feverishly.

“You're doing so good, John. So fuckin’ good. No one's eaten me out like that before. You're so eager and so good at everything you've done for me so far.” He can hear the smile in Merle's voice. John’s breathing stops, hips desperately fucking Merle's fist out of time with Merle's movement just to get more. He's so close. Oh  _ gods _ , he's going to cum all over Merle's hand. John throws his head back and covers his mouth, trying to control the sounds of pleasure escaping from his mouth. They all slip between his fingers as he cums with a deep, stuttered moan. Merle's still moving his hand. 

“I bet you'll be great at fucking me.” Merle finally says, and takes back his hand, cleaning himself up with a cloth on the side and doing the same for John. 

John opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Istus protect me.”

“Istus is who made this happen, bucko.”

John shakes his head, “Twisting fate just to let me get the best handjob I've had in the...” He checks the wall clock. “...two weeks I've been alive.”

Merle rises up to meet his face and kiss him. “You could have got it earlier but  _ nooo _ , had to be all brooding and self-punishing. Come on, man, I just wanna get laid.”

“Oh, is this all just a long-con to get me to fuck you? Is that why you've been so kind to a bitter old man like me?” John says, half joking and half-self deprecating. He can't help himself.

Merle sighs and rubs his nose against John, like a sort of kiss. John finds it unspeakably endearing. “I guess I just really like you. I can't help it.”

“You shouldn't. I must be a nightmare of a man. So obsessed with such miserable things, I can't help that either. Living with me has to be a chore.” John kisses the corner of his lips. “I'm sorry.”

“Nothing this nice could ever feel like a chore, John. It ain't so bad. I get to spend time with you.”

John didn't expect that answer. Merle always sidetracks him, catches him off guard. For once, he tries his best to look on the brighter side of things. 

“We... still have the rest of the night. What would you like to do?” John takes his hands and squeezes. 

“Well, I'm hungry and thirsty as hell. Thought we could order something and talk, if ya want to.”

John stretches his body, feeling his heart slowly, gently melt down to his sleeve.

“That sounds perfect.”

 

\---

  
  


Thankfully, after almost two weeks of blue-balling himself around Merle, John was able to relax and let his mind focus on more productive ways to pass the time. Merle’s touch does wondrous things, like finally allowing him to read a book from cover to cover without his mind once wandering to his desires. For at least ninety percent of the day, John preoccupied himself with hobbies to pass the time.

For the other ten percent, usually when he was around Merle, he couldn’t help but think about the last words he said. He finds himself blushing at the sight of him. Silly old Merle, with his beach shirt and questionable taste in music -- he’s sure his Bureau friends would die at hearing the things John has heard him say. 

When they do get together once more, it’s settles into a familiar pace. There's a sort of unspoken pact to reserve themselves to using their hands and mouths, mostly on John’s part. He’s sure Merle would not be against taking another step, he was the one who offered to do so, after all. John knows it’s just sex, it shouldn’t be a big deal to put his cock inside someone else if the other person is willing, but it’s a big deal to him. It’s a level of intimacy he hasn’t allowed himself to reach for as long as he can remember. Merle is willing, interested, eager even. All John has to do is say something. It’s so easy to speak when all he has to talk about is the end of the world, not his feelings.

Soon, his fantasies shift ever so slightly, and he finds their positions inverted.

There are so many images that fill his mind. So many possibilities of what he can do for Merle, and now what Merle can do for  _ him _ . He wonders if Merle would be open to the option of fucking him. It would be completely new, no one did that for him even in his past life.

John bites on his nails, a new habit he’s formed when he’s anxious that Merle keeps trying to get him to stop, claiming one of his kids has a similar habit. John bites away despite the hot sauce blended into the black nail polish. It doesn’t affect him, he’s proved before he can eat anything. Well, anything his now human stomach will allow him to.

Mostly human.

“Congratulations, you have absolutely nothing to do tomorrow.” John says, ducking his head as he exits Merle’s mostly unused study. 

Merle stops tending to a ficus and looks up at the roof, sighing. “Thank you, Pan.”

John puffs on a pipe Merle had given him as a present. He’d given up on trying to get John to smoke outside, seeing as he’s not allowed to step foot outside the house. If he has to smoke, it might at least be in style. “Pan did nothing, I just sent a few letters and  _ actually _ used your planner for what it’s for.” John rests Merle’s old planner on the table, open to a random page. “Look at this mess.”

Merle eyes it a shrugs him off, “I gotta remember when they got the fritter combo, that’s my favorite beach restaurant.”

“That day you also had a meeting with Lord Sterling. Priorities, Merle.”

“Priorities, _schmiorities._ Hey, don’t gotta remember anything anymore since you suddenly decided to be my secretary.”

John closes the planner and sets it in the recycling bin. “It gives me  _ something _ to do to pass the time.”

John means nothing negative by his words, only trying to make conversation, but the look on Merle’s eyes feels... guilty. He stammers, coughing on his pipe for a moment. “Though, I still have a lot of your books to read. Didn’t know you had so many about... sailing.” He smiles, awkwardly.

“Yeah, thought I could take it up after I was done at the Bureau. Davenport beat me to the punch, fucker’s got a ship and everything.” He frowns, jealous, but it leaves his face quickly. “You wanna check on Lil’ Johnny No. 3?”

John lets out a long suffering sigh. “Lil’ Johnny No. 3” was the name Merle had given to a begonia plant he was supposed to take care of all by himself. This was his third attempt, hence the number. It was especially difficult seeing as Merle had set it right beside his children’s plants, which were both blooming and gorgeous.

He forgot to water it yesterday and was not looking forward to seeing it.

John winces as they walk to the pots, “Merle, I don’t think this project of yours for me is going to work...”

“Shut up, I can just get you a new one.” The cleric leans down to look his growing plant closely. “Not even I was born knowing how to do all this shit. It’s complicated.”

“Yes, but you’re a natural! Everything I’ve tried to grow just withers away. How could you expect me to bring life to anything when all I did before was take it?” 

Merle cuts him off before he goes any longer, “John, can you stop being dramatic and look at this?”

John sighs again and gets down on one knee to look at Merle’s hands. Between his calloused, darker palms, he sees a small, pink flower bud. 

“Oh.”

Merle bumps John’s arm with his shoulder teasingly. “See? You did that. All by yourself.”

John leans closer to his plant, poking it gently. He puts off his pipe and blows his last bit of smoke at the other direction. He doesn’t understand how something so small and unmoving fills him with a sense of pride, but it does. “It’s beautiful.”

Merle widens his eyes. It’s the first time John has even displayed any sort of care for any plant or living thing other than Merle. Of course it would be the one John helped bring to existence. 

John stares at it for a while before finally looking back at Merle, who’s resting his chin on his wooden arm and looking at him with a smug smile on his face. John likes it.

“Let’s see it bloom, yeah?” Merle says, gesturing at the bud. “And hopefully you have as many flowers as Mavis does!”

John eyes the pot beside his own, which he gorgeous. It’s also taken care of by Merle when his kids aren’t visiting, so he at least gives himself a pat in the back for knowing he raised this bud on its own without any sort of help. John nods, “Of course.” He can leave it at that, easily. But at the sight of Merle’s smile, and demeanor, and every single other factor around them, John freezes. His cheeks turn to the same shade of red as the flowers around him.

“Yo, John, what you thinking about?” Merle asks, curious. John lets go of the flower and stands up, feeling awkward by saying anything whilst on his knees. 

“Nothing. Just... preoccupied with things. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” John admits.

“‘Not appropriate’? Now you gotta tell me. Can’t leave a guy hangin’ like that!”

From what he can remember, John has given speeches to thousands of people at a time. In a past life, he talked about the most comforting to uncomfortable aspects of life to anyone who was willing to listen. John is good at speaking, it’s what his bardic prowess allowed him to excel at before. Even without his magic, he knows Istus has at least allowed him to keep his voice.

Merle touches him once, beyond divinity, and suddenly John can't find his words.

“I was wondering if... Perhaps, since you were interested in something similar, and while I'd like to try that as well I... um,” John clears his throat, unused to stumbling like this. Merle doesn't interrupt, and patiently waits for him to gather his thoughts. “Merle, I want you to...”

John laughs at himself, embarrassed despite the fact Merle is the only one listening, and the only one who will ever hear him say this. “I was wondering if you'd like to fuck me.”

Merle covers the flower bud with his hands, “Don’t talk like that in front of the baby!” 

John rolls his eyes. So much for trying to create an important step in their relationship.

Thankfully, Merle just laughs at his embarrassment and indignation. “I can't believe you thought you'd need to ask me. Of course I’d wanna do that, John.”

John pouts, “Well, I wasn't sure since I'm usually the one who has to take the reins.”

Merle shrugs, “You like being in charge. Why would I waste the energy? I'm just a tired, old man.” 

John's mind goes back to the other night where Merle rode his fingers twice before caring if John came, tiring John's hand so much it fell asleep. It takes him a great deal of self-restraint not to mention it.

“But you would be willing... next time we have sex, yes?” 

Merle still covers the non-existent ears of the flower bud and nods. “Yeah, baby, of course. We could do it right now, if you want. Actually, after I eat... And then I have to write Hecuba a telegram. Pandamnit.”

John waves him off, watching as Merle finally stands up to talk to the kitchen. He swears some plants turn to face him the instant Merle isn't looking, almost menacingly. Like they're giving him a silent warning. They always do, ever protective of their beloved cleric. John empathizes.

“Tomorrow, then.” John stands behind Merle in the kitchen, rubbing his shoulders. “You have the day off, and the night is also ours. Tomorrow, you can have me.”

Merle looks up at him and grins, “Hey, I gotta ask, so I don't gotta tomorrow-”

John raises an eyebrow.

“-you got a favorite color?”

 

\---

 

 

John lists out his emotions. He's learned that trying to identify every single one he can pinpoint helps him calm down, helps him remember what a certain feeling is. Sometimes, when one is indecipherable, he'll describe it to Merle, who'll give him a name. It's like trying finding a place you’ve passed through only once before on a map. Some emotions he keeps to himself, unnamed and unspoken.

Right now, John feels anxious. Nervous. Inadequate. Undeserving. Slightly sweaty. And obviously aroused. At the sight of Merle kneeling between his legs, holding him by his knees with a soft smile on his face, there's another feeling he can't quite place, but he has a theory of what it could be. 

“How are you feelin’, buddy?” Merle asks while he remembers to undo his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders. He knows John likes it that way.

“Are you really going to call me  _ buddy _ in bed? Gods...” John says, trying to direct the pre-sex conversation somewhere else. He has to look calm, the last thing he wants is for Merle to think he doesn't want this. His words come out angrier than they really are.

Merle runs a hand up and down John's thigh comfortingly. “What d’ya want me to call you?”

John knows what he's playing at. The question game, trying to get him to relax. It works, most of the time, but sometimes it gets on his nerves. John tries very hard not to get pissed off, he knows his anger is stemmed from anxiety. “I... I like it when you say my name. Or when you use... baby.” John avoids eye contact, staring at one of Merle’s hands instead. “I don't think anyone has called me that before.”

“Alright,” Merle allows himself a smug smile. “Is there anything you really,  _ really _ wouldn't like me to do?”

“No. I'd let you do anything to me.”

Merle chuckles, “That's hot and all, but there has to be  _ something  _ you don't wanna try.”

John considers it, truly considers it, but there's nothing he wouldn't let Merle do to him. Use him, kill him, rename him -- John doesn't care. He can do anything, anything, anything. He’s the only living being who's shown him complete and utter kindness. He knows it's unhealthy, but he doesn't want Merle to know. 

He settles with the first things that come to mind that he assumes Merle wouldn't like to try. “Cutting. Blood. Knives or sharp objects. Torture. Enchantment magic.” John says, though he considers each possibility in his mind. Wishful thinking.

“Uh,  _ yeah _ . Definitely wasn't going to suggest any of that,” Merle shakes his head. “We're not gonna do anything weird today, don't worry. Just wanna make you feel good tonight, John. Is that cool? Is there anything you want me to do specifically before we start?”

John speaks, without a second thought, “Bind my hands to the bed. You're in charge tonight, Merle. I don't trust myself to not try to change that if they're free.” He flutters his eyes, knowing it works on the cleric. “Please.”

“ _ Shit _ . Yeah, okay.” Merle tells John to rest his hands against the headboard. John does and almost immediately feels tightly, coiling vines hold them in place. He tries to pry his hand away, testing, but they're secured, ensuring that he won't be able to move them anyway. John smirks and relaxes ever so slightly. Merle looks visibly taken aback from the sight in front of him. “Pan, John. You look...”

"Powerless?”

“Gorgeous.” 

John opens his mouth to say something but closes it. He’s become far too familiar with the sensation of blushing, usually he can hide it or look away, but now he's strapped to the wood behind him and at this man's mercy. He likes it. 

Merle runs his wooden hand up and down John's thighs, the other grabbing something from a box. It's oddly warm to the touch. Merle very deliberately ignores the area between his thighs. The touch feels more comforting than arousing, but his cock doesn't seem to care. A rush of blood goes down his body as Merle's hand gets painstakingly close, only to come back up again. The pattern seems to work, damn cleric. He's too busy focusing on the sensation of Merle's touch to worry about anything else.

John relaxes, breathing deeply. His hips hitch up ever so slightly, silently begging for something more. 

“Hey, wanna see what I found for ya?” Merle asks, already lifting up the surprises without waiting for an answer. It's two dildos, differing in size, both the same hue of purple and black. His favorite colors. “One to get ya ready and the other for the two of us to enjoy.” 

John eyes the larger toy and gulps on instinct, becoming slightly impatient. “Yes, the look... well made,” He breathes.

“It's that dwarven touch, baby.”

He grinds his teeth to force out any sound or exhale at that. It only takes Merle a simple spell to get the smaller toy lubricated, but John can't keep quiet anymore.

“I want... I want your fingers first,” John unconsciously pulls his wrists forward to no avail. If he wasn't restrained he would take Merle’s hand in his own and guide it to his hole, but all he can do is lie back and give into the one thing he'd never thought he'd do this often: Beg. “I want to feel you. I want to feel you inside me. Please.”

Merle immediately throws the smaller toy behind him and lubricates his fingers instead. “Woah there, vore boy. Baby steps, baby steps.”

John blushes at the assumption but keeps quiet, not denying anything. He wishes he had a better view of what was happening but instead he sees Merle's hand disappear between his thighs, lowering to his entrance. John absentmindedly remembers that he has never done this before -- at least not from this position -- even in his past life. He wonders if this world's standards of virginity are the same as the ones in his past life. Perhaps it's best not to mention that the instant he feels a lubricated, cold finger push inside him. John lets his mouth fall open.

It’s.... an odd feeling. Not entirely arousing but not unpleasant. It more like  _ oh, there’s something there _ , stretching him and holding him open. Merle moves his finger back and forth, getting him used to the sensation. But he gets to watch Merle, watch his arm tense with every move of it. Feel him rest a gentle kiss on his knee as he does so. It feels terrifyingly intimate and quiet. John shifts his hips up, allowing him more leeway. 

“That feel okay, John?” Merle asks. He uses his wooden arm to hold one of John’s legs spread apart and still. 

“Yes. More.” He demands. Merle obliges with a smug smile.

Merle's hands are soft, hot to the touch. It feels like all of Merle’s body is that way, there to warm him whenever he feels cold. One finger becomes two, opening him up, curling inside him with practiced ease. This time, John feels like he's the one burning.

John moans and doesn't hold it back this time. He knows Merle would appreciate it any sort of vulnerability from him. He feels Merle’s fingers go slightly faster, a third pressing to stretch him more. John already feels impatient, he wants to Merle to fuck him  _ now _ . 

“I'm ready now. Come on, Merle. No need to treat me- oh!- like I'm made of glass.” John insists.

Merle chuckles and doesn't remove his fingers. “Yeah, figured you wouldn’t have any experience in this area. Stay still, baby.”

He opens his mouth to say something but it's cut off by a whine. A sound he’s never heard from himself. Merle presses his fingers against his prostate again, no doubt enjoying the sight of John squirming against him, pulling against his restraints. It's too much, too suddenly. John feels like he's drowning again.

“I didn't... I-I didn't think-” John stammers, trying to gather himself. “I didn't think it would feel that good.”

Merle stops for a moment. “That's what happens when you live a million years and never bottom.”

He continues, John lets out an embarrassing sound and smiles. Out of all the things he curses himself for missing out on, this is in the top five.

Soon after, Merle pulls away his fingers. John groans at the loss. He's felt total and complete emptiness before, but not like this. His cock throbs helplessly against his navel. He’s at the mercy of Merle's whims. It feels absolutely sublime. 

Merle, being the kind man that he is, lowers to lick a stripe from his head to his balls. John shifts his hips uselessly, trying to get more. One of Merle's hands has hidden between his own thighs and John desperately wishes he could be the one beneath them. Whatever he's doing, John can’t see and is too distracted by Merle's mouth on him to care. His well kept beard brushes against sensitive skin, flower petals occasionally falling from his hair to his chest, John rather likes it. 

Merle pulls back to reveal that he'd put on the second toy. A purple strap-on, a leather harness holding it in place. John licks his lips at the sight and spreads his legs apart further. 

“Sorry, no more Merle inside ya for a bit,” He apologizes for some reason John cannot fathom. “Gonna have to settle for silicone, yeah?”

John cannot kiss him in reassurance, so he uses his words instead. “Anything you give me I will take gladly, Merle.  _ Anything. _ ”

Merle looks down, taking the now lubed toy and pressing it against John. It's not very large -- though curved and ridged in a way that makes his mouth water -- enough for what John can handle for now, but the sensation of it is enough to make John moan again. He wants to let Merle know he enjoys this. Every part of it. 

“I can still feel you. Your hands, your skin, your touch against me. I have everything I could ever want just by watching you,” John hitches his hips up, trying to push himself down on the toy. “ _ Merle. _ ”

Merle pauses, and for an instant John thinks he’s said too much. Rambled. Gone too far. He’s still trying to get used to so many new feelings and emotions that it’s hard for him to register if Merle feels the same way. Merle pulls his toy back for a moment, John tenses up. “I-”

He’s cut off by the feeling of Merle’s crawling up to meet him, straddling his chest, his silicone cock pressed against him as Merle leans down to kiss him. A real kiss, a proper one. John sighs in relief and opens his mouth more, like the sort of kiss he’d expect someone much younger, much more desperate to indulge in. Merle smiles against him, parting for a moment. “I thought you’d relax and shut up a bit if I kissed you,” He says, his mouth and beard now pressed against his jaw. 

“Oh Merle, you know I love the sound of my own voice.” John breathes. “You’ll have to try harder to get me to shut up.”

Merle returns to his previous position, pressing the strap-on against his hole again, finally,  _ finally _ pushing in. It’s more than Merle’s fingers, the ridges adding a completely new sensation that he didn’t expect at all. John lets out a whine as Merle moves in in one long, gentle glide. Merle pauses in fear that it might be out of discomfort. It isn’t. Dear gods, it’s anything but. John closes his eyes and throws his head back, gritting his teeth together. “Move. Merle, please.” He’s close already just from this, curse him for his inexperienced body. 

Wordlessly, Merle takes his cock and strokes it, the sensation of his warm hands on his cock and the somewhat cold toy inside him feel like there’s wires crossing across his entire body. Sune, Istus, fucking  _ Pan _ even, protect him. He’s not going to last long at all. Every part of his composure crumbles at every sensation combined -- Merle’s wooden arm holding him by his thigh and no doubt leaving bruises and  _ oh, _ he hopes they never heal. The sound of Merle’s voice not being able to shut up, far more composed than himself, saying ridiculous things like  _ you like that, baby?  _ Yo _ u look real cute like this. Johnny, your face’s all red.  _ All things that feel so cliche and that shouldn’t work at all, but John finds himself nodding at every word. Merle finds his prostate and fucks him  _ right there _ over and over. John’s eyes are closed but he can picture the same little smug smile on his face. Damn him. 

“I’m going to cum,” John breathes out, half-announcement half-realization of the situation he’s found himself in. He’s going to cum with Merle Highchurch inside him. How ironic, that Merle has found another way to kill him. _ A ‘little’ death, my ass. _ John feels his balls tighten and his entire body tense, small whimpers escaping him for being far too sensitive for a man his age. “Merle.  _ Merle _ , thank you.  _ Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou....” _

John cums all over his chest as he keeps repeating his gratitude, still saying Merle’s name like he’s thanking a god that saved him. In a way, he might be. Merle pumps his cock until he can’t anymore, words devolving into small whimpers. He’s spent completely, John didn’t know he could reach this point. Merle pulls out of him, toy pressing against his thigh now. John feels hollow again in the best possible way.

He pants and opens his eyes. Merle is resting his head on his knee, tracing circles on his inner thigh.

“You’re welcome,” He says. “Looks like ol’ Merle still has it, huh?”

John feels the vines leave his wrists. He immediately pounces on top of the other man, pushing him down on the mattress, places inverted. John kisses him again, using his newly freed hands to touch Merle everywhere. He threads his fingers through his hair, holds his face, runs them down his body so he can throw the harness to the side. Merle seems delighted. John can’t stop petting him, can’t stop pressing his body against him, like a large cat desperate for attention. “Yes, you do. That felt wonderful, let me make you feel the same way. Please.”

“Fuck yeah, ‘course you can.”

John slips his fingers between Merle’s legs, kissing his temple and holding him close. The sensation feels practice, familiar, and never stops being completely captivating. Merle groans against his ear, nipping at the sensitive skin as John fucks him with his fingers. “Want you on top of me next time,” Merle breathes out. “Fucking me, riding me. Don’t care. I think it would be really hot. _ Pan _ , John.”

John chuckles at his words and at the sight of Merle hurling out expletives and blasphemies as he presses his thumbs to the cleric’s hard clit, moving his hand quicker. Long, slender fingers reaching parts that Merle can’t with his own hand. “Oh, yes. Gladly.”

It doesn’t take long for Merle to cum, already riled up from fucking John beforehand. His wooden arm thankfully grabs on to the bedsheets the entire time, had it grabbed on to John he’s Merle would have accidentally snapped one of his bones. John strokes Merle’s hair as he calms down, lightly panting with a satisfied smile on his face, no doubt one he shares right now. The area around Merle’s hair is covered in flower petals, all a deep red. He recognizes each other, the name of all of Merle’s favorite flowers committed to memory. He sees roses, carnations, begonias, and tulips. John prides himself in knowing something he thought so useless before. 

“That was great!” Merle says, awfully chipper. “Didn’t think I’d be into the whole restraining thing but, hey, you seemed to enjoy it.”

“Yes, I did. I enjoyed you very much.”

“When you phrase it like that it makes it sound like you ate me.”

“Well,” John smirks, “not this time.”

Merle runs his hand over John’s chest. “That feels like a threat,” He says, feigning worry.

“Or rather a promise of good times to come.”

“Now definitely feels like a threat.” 

John grins and shows off his teeth, which Merle has told him are oddly sharp. Merle laughs and gently slaps his face. John feels the sudden urge to press his face to Merle’s for another kiss for no reason at all. He once thought kissing should be reserved for special moments, important occasions, but now he finds himself wanting to kiss Merle all the time, no matter the time of day or company. Kissing no longer feels like an apology, it just feels like a kiss. 

John feels like his soul has turned around completely. What was one unbearable to think about has now become an aching need. Merle embodied everything he hated and now look at him -- in bed with the once enemy, wanting nothing more than to hold him close. Hunger can be gentle too.

He rests his head beside Merle’s. Rests his hands over the man’s soft chest and heart. Each beat against his fingertips becoming a comforting pattern, something he can imagine himself protecting, never breaking. 

The silence feels perfectly comfortable. It’s rare to have it around Merle, of course, so he enjoys it while he can. All he can hear is the wall clock ticking away, the man’s life beating against his palm. John stares at him, not wanting to fall asleep but not interested in getting up either. Merle looks at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at John with a face he can’t read. John tries to ignore the tinge of worry that begins crawling into his mind like a spell. He looks down, focusing on Merle’s tanned, lightly freckled skin, waiting for Merle to speak.

“John?” Merle says, voice serious. A rare occurrence. 

John freezes, half of him knowing what Merle might say and the other is desperately wishing he doesn’t. It has been far too much for one day. He doesn’t think he could take it. But his lips stay pressed together, his eyes glance up expectantly. 

“I love you,” Merle pauses, waiting if John will respond. He keeps quiet and tries to make his face as unreadable as possible. Merle holds John’s face, warm hands against cold skin. “You don’t gotta back, I know. But you know me. Can’t keep shit on the inside very well. I wanted to say it before but this felt like the right time.”

John opens his mouth to speak but closes it. It’s not shock, he tells himself. He expected it to happen eventually. But expectations can be twisted, and reality is so much more confusing and chaotic. There they are, their bodies bare and spent, and John cannot find the words he wants to say. He could repeat Merle’s. He wants to. But his voice leaves him, replaced by a cowardly silence instead. 

He holds Merle’s hands, hoping somehow the touch translates to the words. If John didn’t love him it would be so easy to lie. Existence has made him terrified and useless. Oh, if Istus could see him now. The gods must be laughing.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Merle repeats. “I know.”

John sighs, feeling hopeless. For a man who loves the sound of his own voice he can’t find the words.

“I...”

“John, seriously. Don’t force yourself.”

“It’s so difficult to say it.”

“I know. Why do you think I made myself wait? Didn’t last, but still.” Merle comforts him, John feels like a frustrated, crying child who’s discovered he can’t be good at everything. He isn’t crying, John promised himself not to waste his tears in moments when he’s just being an idiot. 

“This is the first time I’ve said that in a long time,” Merle admits.

John doesn’t look up at him. “This is the first time I’ve heard it aloud. I think. I can’t remember. I can’t remember.” 

John doesn’t tell Merle he’s been lying about his memories.

He remembers everything about the Hunger. As much as his human mind can possibly hold. Yet it all feels like he was watching in third-person -- in the boxed seat with a full view of his ruination. It helps him absolve himself of all responsibility. Helps him pretend he didn’t do such horrible things.

Anything before that and the memories become muddled. He forced himself to forget them long ago. He never heard those three words directed at him. He’s almost certain. It’s been so long, he’s just an old man who isn’t even sure John is his true name. What did he do to deserve that, he wonders. John looks back at Merle, he seems worried. What has he done to deserve  _ this _ ?

“I’m sorry. It’s too much for me today. I’m trying my best. It takes time and I don’t have enough of it left.” John wishes he had magic again. Wishes he could use it to fix this somehow. “But you know me, Merle. You know me. You have to. I’m trying. ”

“It’s okay, John. It’s okay. I know you are.” Merle’s hands glow for a brief moment and he feels himself get cleaned. Merle does the same to himself. “Calm down, if you want you can say it another time.”

“I ruined it.”

“You didn't, trust me. There’s way worse things you could’ve said and done instead. Come on, John. I don’t need you to be perfect.”

“But I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to hard to be good for you yet I can’t say three  _ fucking _ words without panicking.”

Merle chuckles, it almost makes John furious. “That’s the human experience, baby. Humanoid. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

John gets up and wraps a robe around himself, slightly too short for his body but he can’t bring himself to give a shit. He finds the packet of cigarettes he left inside and hands one to Merle, “Will you please? For me?”

Merle scowls but uses a quick cantrip to light it anyway. John inhales and exhale, feeling immediately more calm at a familiar taste. Merle looks up at him, unimpressed. A familiar sight. 

“I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

“You and me both, buddy.”

John laughs at that, at least. A short huff hidden behind a cigarette. He leans down to kiss Merle’s forehead, getting an expected exaggerated grimace from the man from the smell. It’s all bullshit, John knows, the floral scent of his hair and skin overpowers John’s tobacco even when he’s chain smoking. It creates a much needed balance. 

He stays quiet for a moment, letting the ash drop to the floor. “I ruined the night.”

“Again, nope. You didn’t.”

“The let me at least try to make it better for myself. I cook tonight.”

Merle raises an eyebrow, “You know how to cook?”

He still doesn’t know about the time John almost caught the kitchen on fire. “Fuck no. But why not start now? I’m distressed and I need to get out of this fucking room. Maybe if I cook you’ll remember to do the dishes.”

“Hey, I did the di- shit. I forgot yesterday, didn’t I?”

John smiles fondly. “No. Just keeping you on your toes.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Merle says, standing up and almost walking out of the room without any clothes. “Come on, I’m starving.” And the discussion ends just like that. John hears the sound of Merle’s feet making their down the stairs. 

John waits for him to leave and looks down. He speaks in a whisper. “I love you.”

The words stay muttered between him and every god watching him. He hopes they know he’s trying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! if you keep up with this story you might have noticed that the chapter count has gone up. this chapter was originally going to be over 10k words long again, but i had to divide it for plot reasons. 
> 
> anyway, sorry for the wait, this was a difficult chapter to write (as if any other chapter hasn't been difficult lol). hope you like it though, i've had it in my brain for a month and i can finally share it with you guys.
> 
>  **warnings for this chapter** : yet another existential crisis, detailed panic attack, discussion of custody and divorce.
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated <3

They play chess for first time since John came back.

He avoided mentioning the game, the less the could remind Merle of their parlay memories, the better. Surprisingly, it was Merle who suggested it first, knowing how much John enjoyed it. John accepted without a second thought.

He beats Merle, though it doesn't come easily. Merle is better at the game than he gives himself credit. Or he's simply played with John so many times that he knows all his tricks. John manages to step ahead this time, allowing himself and smug look on his face as he takes Merle's king and places it to the side. 

Merle laughs and takes a swig of his margarita. “Y’know, I thought you would let me win this one since it's been so long since we played.”

John sips on his dwarven-made rum. “That wouldn't be fair. I'm up for a rematch, though.”

“Only if you let me win this one.”

“Hm, I might consider it... if I get something in return for a guaranteed win.” John's smug look settles into a fond one. Merle pulls him by his tie so he can lean closer to his side of the table and kisses him on the cheek, slipping in something into his chest pocket. John pulls out a gold piece.

Merle waggles his eyebrows.

John sighs, “I'll keep it for when I'm allowed to go out and buy things. But I don't think this is enough to bribe me for a win.”

“I'll buy you a handmade Halfling cigar.” 

John takes the king he stole for Merle and uses it to tip over his own. “Oh shit, looks like you won this one Merle. What a shame.” He puts on his best pout, trying to look like a kicked puppy begging for nicotine.

Merle laughs as he shakes his head and downs the rest of his drink. “Don't get why I keep indulging your bad habit.”

“It's because or else I'll go mad.” He looks out the window, watching the calm waves drift over the sand. John still feels somewhat drawn to the sea. Maybe he's read too many of Merle's sailing books, or the monotonous routine of staying inside all day makes him more desperate to touch anything that isn't wooden floorboards beneath his feet, but he misses it. 

Merle places a comforting hand over his hand, patting it gently. “Hey, ya got me for the entire weekend. And I got good news.”

John raises an eyebrow, “No you don't.”

“What?”

“You don't have me the entire weekend.”

Merle laughs, “Baby, I checked the planner and it said I had nothing this weekend. And I already made plans for us.”

John isn't convinced, seeing as he's the one who's memorized most of his lover's schedule in its entirety. Merle grabs the planner from the kitchen counter and comes back, opening on the table on a certain page. John skims it his eyes over the weekend and finds an entry that isn't in his hand writing.

_ Mavis + Mookie weekend visit! _

Oh. Fuck.

John glances at the page, back at Merle, then back at the page. 

“Merle, sweetheart?”

Merle looks very pleased with himself. “Yes, my rose?”

“This is next week’s page,” John turns the page back, pointing a finger at tomorrow's entry that says  _ Town Recreation Budget Meeting, 10 to 2pm. _ “This is tomorrow. And this--”  _ Citizen Complaints, New Road Plans, 2 to 6pm. “-- _ is the next day. Unfortunately, you will be quite the busy bee.” 

Merle flips the pages back and forth, scratching his hair. “Shit. Shit _ shitshit.  _ Aw, shit.”

John lets out a long suffering sigh, piecing the pieces together. “ _ Istus _ , Merle. What did you do  _ now _ ?”

“So, uh... Johnny?”

John drinks what’s left of his rum. 

“How do ya feel about kids?”

He sets the glass on the table. “I'm meeting your children in person for the first time tomorrow and I'm going to have to babysit them by myself all day, aren’t I?”

Merle chuckles nervously, “How does that make you  _ feel,  _ though?”

“Damn it, Merle.” He was trying not to smoke today, but now his mood and anxiety has gone to shit. Merle lights it without complaint, no doubt feeling guilty. “I'm not good with kids. Hell, I don't even  _ know _ if I'm good with kids. I don't even remember what they're usually like and you expect Hekuba to allow you to leave them with me?”

Merle blinks, “She doesn't gotta know.”

John takes a  _ long  _ inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke tumble from his mouth as he speaks. “Oh, Pan, protect you pretty fool. Merle, you are not lying to your ex-wife about who you’re leaving your children with... Much less if it's me. Send her a telegram, tell her we can take them in some other time.”

Merle sits back in front of him, looking terribly guilty. John imagines he's beating himself up for being a inattentive old man again. “They can't even come next week. Next time they'll be able to come will be a month from now.”

John has no idea what it's like to have children, he doesn't believe he ever did, but he knows Merle loves and misses his own deeply. “I don't... know how to take care of a child.”

“They ain't babies, John. Mavis can mostly take care of herself, she's real smart. Mookie just needs an eye on him and a bit of patience, but he's a really good kid.” Merle takes his hand and looks at him with pleading eyes. “It won't be all day, just for a few hours. Please, I wanna see ‘em. And it's important they meet you as soon as possible anyway, right?”

John can't deny that, but there are too many factors that make his head spin. “Merle, look at me. Look at who I am. Those kids will know who I am, like every other fucking person in Faerùn. How can you be sure they won't run in terror at the sight of me? Does Hekuba know we're together?”

“I've mentioned it.”

“Mentioned that you're with someone, or mentioned that you’re with me  _ specifically _ ?”

Merle grits his teeth and falls silent.

John sighs, “Send her a telegram. Or use a spell. Or anything you can do to tell her the situation  _ immediately _ . Use that Stone of Far Speech, for all I care. Last thing I want is your ex-wife barging in with guards Merle Highchurch left his kids with the fucking Hunger.”

“It's not like you're going to treat them badly, John. Or else I obviously wouldn't fuckin’ leave you with them. I trust you.”

Merle looks at him in the ever familiar way John still can't bear. He takes Merle's hand and stares at the wooden table. “I know you do,” He says, “you're the only person in the multiverse who does.”

Merle doesn’t answer. John presses the cigarette butt to the ashtray. “Just contact her. If she somehow agrees, I'll take care of the kids.”

“Really?” The cleric says carefully. Hopefully. Damn John if that hope hasn't broken every last bit of his resolve.

“Yes. I know how much you want to see them.” John places another cigarette in front of Merle, silently asking for a flame. “You've been so busy babysitting me, it's time I return the favor.”

Merle stands in front of him and kisses him. A soft, gentle meeting of lips. John wants to drown in them. Merle gives him a small smile, “Thanks.”

Merle moves away from the kitchen, thankfully away from earshot. John occupies himself by lighting his cigarette with a nearby atmospheric candle and making himself another drink. Whatever Merle says, or yells, it's muffled by a barrier of wood and plants. John moves to the nearest one and waters it on a whim. At the sound of what seems like Merle arguing, its leaves flinches. John blows out his smoke away from the plant and gives it a comforting pat. He feels silly, but the flora around him seems to calm down.

“He’ll be alright. I assumes this happens every time he has to talk to her.”

If plants could somehow nod without a head, the ones in Merle's house have found a way to do so. A couple of others follow suit. Some of them must be old, he assumes. They must have started growing long before Merle moved into the estate. All these plants have seen him as his loneliest, arguing with the lover he never wanted to be with. No wonder they were wary of John in the first place.

John sits back on the table, staring at the sea. The waves look soothing. Almost comforting. Is it for him? He can't know. 

The conversation goes on for a long time, long enough for John to assume Merle either used every spell slot he has and more or gave Hekuba a Stone of Far Speech of her own. John gathers it's all about him, and that somehow Hekuba heard he was alive but did not know he was living with Merle. The amount of explaining Merle has to do is no doubt astronomical. John absentmindedly wonders if he mentions they've slept together.

He wonders if he would have done the same were he a parent -- if he had argued with his ex in total disbelief of his new choice of partner. John cannot recall if he ever had children or got married. He can't remember ever falling in love or being forced to love someone. He’s never had the point of view to know what he would have  _ possibly _ done.

Merle walks back in and sits beside John this time, setting the now turned off Stone of Far Speech on the table. 

“She's thinking about bringin’ the kids herself. They heard the conversation and they wanted to see me.”

John holds his hand.

“Mookie’s young and doesn't really understand who... what you were. Mavis said she wants to know what the Hunger was all along. Kids these days all wanna be detectives.” Merle lets out a huff. “I guess they wore Hekuba down. They wanna see their old man that much that she’s willing to take them over. But she wants to meet you first.”

Merle rests his head on John's shoulder, clearly tired. John was hoping they could have sex tonight but it looks like that is no longer a possibility. “Would you like to be present while we talk?”

"Knowing her, she'll want to speak with you alone.”

John smiles, “You know her more than me.”

“I had to,” Merle shrugs, “andI have two kids to prove it. Don’t get me wrong, love the two of ‘em to death but... I wish it hadn't been like that.”

John pulls him closer. “I know.” He lies. Merle has told him about the arranged marriage, about the difficult pregnancy, the custody battle, the divorce that never technically happened until recently. Yet he will never truly know what any of it is like. From what Merle has admitted, he hopes he never has to. “I know, Merle.”

“Yeah...” The cleric clears his throat, never one for long bouts of silence. “I think I’m ready to hit the hay. You?”

“I'm always ready to take a nap.”

“Welcome to your two-hundred and forties. Or... whatever human age you are now.” Merle shrugs.

“I believe I'm in my fifties.”

Merle laughs, “Shit, humans are weird.”

"We're the same age range!"

"I know, just messing with you." Merle stops for a second. "Oh my Pan, if you had been born here I could've killed ya."

John laughs and smiles at him fondly, hopefully keeping this memory intact and close for as long as he can. Even the difficult ones can be beautiful. Especially the difficult ones.

He only hopes that tomorrow is the same.

 

\---

 

Hekuba arrives far earlier than they expect.

They're awoken by the sound of someone knocking at the door. Determined knocking, one might say. Merle groans at the sound but doesn't get up, subconsciously knowing very well who’s waiting for him. John nudges him until he actually opens his eyes. He puts on some pants and a recently tailored robe that actually fits to his height. Merle puts on the same clothes he was wearing yesterday and doesn't bother putting on shoes.

John stands behind Merle as the door opens, revealing an equally tan dwarven woman with hair pulled back in a tight bun, and a short beard with decorative braids. She's such a contrast to Merle, well put together and a serious look on her face. Not a flower in sight. 

“Hekuba, didn't expect you at this hour,” Said Merle, voice still tired.

She steps in as Merle closes the door behind her. “Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you before I picked up-”

At the sight of John, she freezes.

It's the same as the people at the Bureau. There’s always a momentary flash of confusion as they wonder why he looks so familiar, then the recognition comes crawling in. Apparently, the memories of the day of Story and Song come vary, in different points of views depending on who you are, what you believe in, what you like... No matter the variations, there is always a bottom line: John created the hunger. He is the villain of the story, what he did is unspeakable. 

After the realisation of who he is, the emotions vary. There is hate, anger, fear. Possibly all of those combined. Hekuba realizes who he is and her face does not change. At most, she looks tired.

John extends a hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Roughridge.”

She does not take his hand. John doesn't take it personally. “You're taller than I thought you would be.”

“Would you like to sit down?” John offers.

“Please.” She takes off her shall and places it on the back of a chair. “Do you mind if we sit outside? Could use a smoke.”

John freezes and glances as Merle, not knowing if he should mention the house arrest. Merle looks at him knowingly and raises his shoulders in an  _ I-don’t-know _ gesture. 

“I can't go outside, unfortunately,” He begins, trying to chose his words carefully. “In order to... control the reaction of my return the world, I have been instructed not to leave the property until further notice. We can smoke inside, if you wish.”

“They have you on house arrest? Shit,” She says, and lights her pipe right then and there. “Merle never let me smoke inside the house.”

“I make him smoke out the window,” Merle adds.

John shrugs and sits at a table beside a window that has become his smoking table, gesturing at the two others seats for the pair of dwarves. He collects his pipe on the way and a scattered box of matches, indulging himself in the same. Hekuba looks at Merle, “I wanna talk to him alone.”

Both Merle and John tense, not knowing what she could possibly mean by that, but Merle clears his throat and gestures at the kitchen. “I'll just... get myself some coffee. You want any?”

Hekuba declines. John shakes his head, slightly nervous the prospect of a second interrogation at the whims of yet another intimidating woman from Merle's life. Hekuba sits in front of him, the two smoking away at their pipes like they're analyzing one another. John analyzes nothing, he isn't sure what to expect. Anything he's heard about Hekuba is from Merle's biased opinion. 

“I got Merle's memories, you know. From the Story and Song. All the memories of what people are calling an epic tale, all from my ex-husband eyes. Fuck,” She shakes her head, half-speaking to herself. “I heard rumors that the Hunger came back as a man. Thought it was bullshit, supposed to scare kids or as a bad joke, but here you are.” 

John stares at her. “Here I am.”

“Don't worry, Merle already told me that you don't have any magic. Or any of the... abilities you used to. I'm not scared of you, and I'm not scared that you'll do anything to my kids apart from spew some nihilistic nonsense.”

“For the record, I am trying to move away from that mindset. Merle has had quite the influence on me.” 

Hekuba looks at him for a moment. “He tends to do that to people. Listen, I... I had some time to think after talking to Merle and to my kids. Mavis is old enough to have her opinions on this, and she got her memories from her father's point of view as well. I think Mookie got ‘em from that elf girl... Lup. He's a about wanting to learn ‘cool fire magic’ these days.”

John doesn't answer, and patiently allows Hekuba to continue. He makes a mental check not to allow Mookie near any matches if he does come over.

“I was so angry at first. So fucking angry that Merle would be so stupid to show you any kindness. Certainly didn't think you deserve it, and I'll be honest and say I'm not entirely sure you still do. But... I lied down and went through what I could remember from Merle. Each of those ‘parlay’ things the two of you did. And damn it, I can see how you helped him, and I could feel all the fondness and love in Merle's memory but I just can't...”

John chews on the tip of his pipe. He didn't realize he was doing it. “Can't what?”

“I can't understand why he just didn't ask how to kill you. Or tried to play mind games with you. Merle isn't stupid. I may think he's an idiot sometimes, but he isn't. Instead, he just asked you dumb questions and asked you if you could be his  _ friend!  _ For the life of me I can't understand. He just let you kill him! Your team could have won ages before and instead he waited until the last minute to trick you!” Hekuba leans back in her chair. “I have his memories but I have no idea how the man thinks. Maybe if I asked you... I could understand this idiot's thought process. And I could understand why the hell he liked you so much! Even then! No offense  — what am I talking about, I don't have to apologize to you  — but I don't understand how the two of you ended up in a relationship! It's crazy!”

“Mrs. Roughridge, those are a lot of questions. We can go one by one, I suppose.” John frowns, not hiding the disdain in his voice, but he isn't going to pretend she's right. “I’m thankful you actually came to speak to me and ask instead of barging in with an angry mob, which I assume is what will happen once the news is out to the general public.”

“Can't Merle's group put you in protective custody?” 

“Maybe. If they wish. They don't have to.” John sighs, not bothering to think about that right now. “Merle didn't have to trick me. He didn't have to kill me either, there's was no way he could have done that alone. You saw his memories... I killed him with the snap of my fingers. He was kind to me because he’s clever.”

“Clever doesn’t necessarily mean smart.”

“Oh, of course not.” John huffs. “Merle asked me to open my heart. He tried his hardest to show me love and kindness. I pushed him away, and when he told me off, I got sad. He was the first being to ever make me feel sadness, guilt, and  _ regret _ in millenniums. I cracked. He broke me that easily. All the times I killed him, all the time I spent feeling nothing and devouring everything, all ended in an instant because I didn't want this man to hate me.”

Hekuba stays silent this time. She crosses her arms as she smokes, awaiting further explanation.

“And if I'm honest, I have no idea why he likes me. I still don’t understand why I'm here and why he's been so kind to me... Everything Merle does is with love, even the stupid things. I understand them just as well as you do, Mrs. Roughridge. Please believe me when I say care for him deeply, and I think I was put on this world to keep him happy. You have no obligation to believe me, no one does, but I don't think Merle is foolish for... for loving me. I certainly don't deserve it, but he isn't a fool.” 

John’s tone gets defensive even if he doesn't mean it. He doesn't think he's making sense. It's so hard to keep his mind straight in front of someone who hates him while also trying to actively try to lessen the situation. He didn't have to worry about this with the members of the Bureau because he didn't  _ care _ if he was hated by them. They had all the right in the world not to like him. But now he has to worry about Merle's happiness, and has to appease to the mother of his  _ children _ without looking like he's trying too hard or too little. 

John runs a hand through his hair, already exhausted. “Hate me all you want, you have all the right to, but please don't deny Merle his children. He loves them so much, he misses them dearly.”

“I know. I just don't know what kind of influence you'll be on them. I almost lost Mavis while you- while the Hunger was attacking. She still has nightmares. I have no idea if she's afraid of you. She won't talk to me about it.”

John looks down. He can't bare to look at her, guilt consuming him once more. He can't bare to think of all the other children of this world who fear him. He must be their new boogeyman.  _ Watch out or the Hunger will eat you. Watch out or John will burn you alive _ . What a pathetic man he is, so blinded by Merle's love and care that he forgot every other being in this world has every right to hate him.

“I would be open to speaking with her. Answering any questions she has.” He says, trying to fix the situation, grasping at straws. “I know it isn't much but I would like to meet them eventually. With your consent and supervision, of course.” 

It's nothing, his words mean nothing. It doesn't take John the grace of a memory to know that the pain he has caused is irreversible to a mother. Kids grow, but what will they think? They will realize their father fell in love with the most hated man in the world. And what then?

It's useless. John straightens his back and looks outside, wishing he could go back into the sea.

“I can't change what I did. I just want to use my second chance make Merle happy.” He admits, without anything else to add. 

Hekuba scratches her beard just like Merle does when he’s thinking. He wonders if it's a mannerism they picked up from each other or if all dwarves do that. John absentmindedly touches his own morning stubble, wishing he could think about something important. Instead, his mind wanders back to the sound of the waves. 

“I'm not bringing the kids over today. Or tomorrow.” Hekuba shakes her head. “I can't in good judgement leave my kids with you until I can be sure about what you just said. And I have to make sure Mavis, or Mookie, won't just look at you and scream. Or that they won't just go and tell their friends that their dad is dating the fucking apocalypse. I'm sure you’re being honest, John, but you seem smart enough to understand where I'm coming from.”

His name on her tongue feels odd. It's only then that John realizes Merle is the only one who has called him by his name. He doesn't want to hear it said by anyone else.

John forces his face to show nothing. He has no idea what he should feel. Anger doesn't feel warranted. Sadness will seem like he's begging for pity. Guilt is just a constant feeling that eats at his mind at every waking moment. He nods, “I understand, Mrs. Roughridge.”

She stands up, picking up her shall and getting rid of the her ashes in the ashtray in front of him. John can't control himself before he speaks again. “What will I tell him? I need to tell him something.”

He doesn't noticed he reached out to grab her before she could leave. He didn't touch her, thankfully, but she stares at his hand in disdain. John pulls it back, embarrassed.

Hekuba sighs, thinking for a moment. “Tell him this isn't a permanent thing. He's not losing any custody, and he can still talk to them over the stone. I just... I need time, alright? I need time to think, and talk with my kids about their father's decision... and what we'll do about you.”

John has nothing else to say. He nods and looks on to the interior in front of him. Flora and old wood covering any remnants of elegance that the estate originally had. He focuses on the taste of his pipe, the smell of tobacco covering his entire body. John wishes he could still become invisible, like the smoke rising from his lips. He doesn't notice Hekuba left until Merle takes her place, sitting where she sat.

John bites on the end of his pipe. 

Merle taps on his cup of coffee, lips pursed in thought. “So, I heard everything.”

“I'm sorry,” John says, avoiding eye contact. “I... I wanted to meet them.”

“You will, eventually. Don't worry.”

“No, I should worry. I should have stayed in that cell back at the Bureau. Then you would be able to see your kids and wouldn’t have to be afraid of the world finding out I'm alive and coming in here with pitchforks.”

Merle snorts, “I ain't worried about that.”

John frowns, “You know what I mean. How will people see you now? Because of me? You're supposed to be the hero, Merle. I'm the dragon. The hero doesn't protect the dragon. That's not the sort of story people want.”

“The hero gets to do whatever the fuck they want.” Merle rests a hand on the table for him, palm open and wanting. No, demanding. “I wanna see my kids. I miss them so fucking badly, but I'm not gonna argue with Hekuba again. She’s got all the right to be wary about you and we both know it. She’ll come around, though. I know she will. I just gotta wait, and waiting's so much more tolerable with you here.” 

John extends a shaking hand and rests it over his. Merle holds it and squeezes. 

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to take all the anger Merle should feel right now and eat it, radiating enough fury and hate for both of them. 

He knows, realistically, he should be angry at everything. At Hekuba for hating him on sight. At the world for seeing him as a monster even in this weakest form. At Merle, for acting like he doesn't care. At Istus, for everything. At himself, for everything.

But Merle smiles and John only feels a sudden ease. All it takes is a smile, a touch, a word. Merle will eventually grow to hate him as much as he wants but John could never be angry at him, no matter what he did.

“I'm sorry,” John repeats. Bandage over a broken bone. 

“It's okay.”

“It isn't.”

“I know.”

And what else can he say? John decides it's best to finish his feelings with a kiss. He stands from his seat then kneels beside Merle, now perfectly at eye level. He goes to rest a kiss on Merle's cheek but the man grabs him by his tie and pulls him for a real one. 

John closes his eyes instantly, the comforting senses of Merle's beard against his skin and the wash of flowers and better cologne. 

Merle pulls away first, leaving John surprised and blushing like mad. He likes it when Merle is able to make him lost for words.

“It's all right, John. I'll be fine. Dealt with worse. Mostly from you.” Merle says, no sense of malice from his words.

John clears his throat. “Yes. Yeah. I believe you.”

Merle stands up, beaming. John knows he's trying his best to look optimistic, but see him truly. He wants to hold him close. He's learned enough about emotions to suspect when someone is hiding them.

“Let’s make some breakfast. I gotta meeting in two hours and I wanna kill some time with my favorite guy.”

“I'm your favorite guy?”

“In the top ten, definitely.”

John smiles at that. 

Maybe things will be alright. 

  
  


\---

  
  


He was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

Yesterday was fine. After Merle left to his meeting, John secluded himself in Merle's study, which has now basically become his study. Merle finally ordered him some books that aren't about sailing, music, or plants, allowing John to bury himself in history, fiction, and poetry. He recalled he enjoyed the latter medium a lot in his past life, and it distracted him enough to keep himself busy until he feel asleep. 

He dreamed that he could feel rocks and dirt beneath his feet, but he could not move. They trapped him. An distant, angry mob grew nearer with every second, while waves grew louder behind him. There he was, held captive by the outside, unable to stop the alarm embedded to his skin from going off and  —

He was awoken by a warm hand against his arm, causing him to panic and hyperventilate until he remembered he was dreaming. He's still getting used to being able to dream.

Merle’s meeting went as normal, for the most part. Problems were resolved, new ones arise. He was asked about John by a random citizen without an uproar. Everyone in this quiet beach town knows about him. If they are angry, they’re speaking behind Merle's back, looking for a way to kick him out of office.

Merle tells him not to worry again. John does anyway.

But the rest of the day is fine. Good. They forget their problems in bed with their touch until they're left sweating and panting, staring at the ceiling, slowly forced to think about all their problems and each other once more.

That's fine. John can handle it. John can handle the awkward post-sex misery. He can handle Merle not wanting to talk. He can cope with the dreams and the guilt.

He just can't cope with the sudden  _ panic. _

The next day comes and Merle leaves at noon. John is left alone to his own devices, with a huge house that’s driving him mad and the tempting sound of the sea ever present and mocking. 

Eons among eons of emptiness and void worth nothing. It takes just one step back into the world of the living, one moment of utter realization, for him for him to turn to hysterics. 

He expected his first ever panic attack to come far earlier, but it did not surprise him when it came. What took him by surprise was the way it felt to be suffocating on air instead of water. It felt even more humiliating.

John wishes he could run outside and find Merle. Let everyone in town see him and know of his existence. He isn’t stupid, but  the need goes stronger as he’s hyperventilating. John tips over every single pot and plant inside the study, covering the ground with soil in an effort to find a semblance of the outside. He opens every window. He turns over every box, trying to look for something to calm him. Sobbing, unable to speak anything but Istus name in both vain and desperation, crawling over the floor on his knees. He holds his gasps and sobs down with great difficulty, showing more emotion than he has in ages with no one there to see. Not since his meeting with Istus has he felt so horrible, but he doesn’t have his cleric to comfort him now. Somehow, he's thankful Merle isn't here to see the act, just the aftermath.

Would he like this? Would the Bureau like to see him sobbing like a child? Would the rest of the world? How hated is he, exactly? How much would they like him to suffer?

How soon until Merle learns to rightfully hate him?

Anxiety, he believes its called. John feels anxious and furious and terrified for his own safety. He coughs, the crying and stress making him feel sick.

This is his punishment.

John tries to calm himself, voice cracking. He could look through Merle's bibles, or beg Istus for help, but instead he looks to his own mind. He tries to look for a calming memory yet sees himself reflected back. A man with nothing but his love, his hate, and his hands. A man so flawed, so weak, and so unspeakably lonely.

Nothing but a burden for Merle to bear.

John lies on the floor, surrounded by soil and dying plants. He curls into a ball, trembling, covering his sleeping clothes in dirt. He must look horrible. He feels horrible.

He wishes he could feel empty again. The void was comforting in a sense, he knew what to expect. It couldn’t judge him, it couldn’t hate him. John wanted nothing and he got nothing in return. In the material plane he gets everything, both the things he enjoys and the things he’s learned to hate.

He wonders if he went through this same kind of panic during his first life. Tired of reality, wishing for nothing. John doesn’t want to repeat his mistakes, he learned enough from all the histories he devoured. And yet, the feeling is so tempting. 

John isn’t sure how long he lays in the middle of the study. The sees the bright sun slowly leave the view of the windows, an darker orange haze of light shining against the walls. He drowns himself in the sound of crickets and frogs and birds, hoping maybe one of them would fly inside for him to see.

He hears the door open, John turns to face Merle. He wonders what his face looks like, and desperately hopes he’s emoting for once, instead of just looking tired.

Merle watches him for a moment, taking in the sight of the mess he’s made. John waits for the scolding, the anger, the scoff of having to deal with his dramatics  _ once again _ , but it doesn’t come. 

“John...” Merle says, understanding. Fondly, even. “What happened?”

John breaks again. If he were made of clay, he would be nothing but the broken pieces of a forgotten artifact. Merle is patient and pieces him back together with gold.

“I... I don’t-” John sits up, palms and knees still resting on the dirty floor. “They all hate me, Merle. Every single one of them.”

Merle pauses. “You’re just realizing that now?”

“...Yes. I think I am.” John grits his teeth. “I didn't realize the extent of it. I didn't think it would seep into your personal life. Your friends like you still. You visit them. I-I thought I wouldn't care or even think about what other people thought of me, and yet...”

John drifts off, feeling defeated. Merle sits next to him, shoes already off and not caring how the soil stains his pants. John sits back properly, staring at nothing. 

“The shoemaker asked me if I was fuckin’ you today, during a meeting.” Merle says, not looking at him. “Rumors spread. People think you got me under a spell. Charmed me into liking ya. Like you got me captive here.”

“How did they react when they realized every single thing they assumed is the other way around?” 

Merle lets out a small smile. “They got the memories in Story and Song but that doesn't mean they understand ‘em. I don't think they have to, either. They’re my dang memories, I didn't choose to have them spread out to the entire world. I just told ‘em it didn't have to do anything with the matter at hand, or how I run the town. Hopefully they don't ask anymore. They’ll learn to ignore you. Eventually, so will you.”

“You don't understand.” John scoffs. “They hate me. They should hate me. I... hurt this world. Hurt their lives. How many people died that day? How many beings did I kill before? I  _ know _ and will never deny the fact that I should be hated but... I didn't expect it to impact me. Or you.” John gives him an apologetic looks. Merle pats his hand. “I want to be part of the real world. I want to go outside and see... things. I fear that if I do I'll just get beaten to a pulp. Children will scream at the sight of me. I just don't know what to do.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I never know what to do.”

John sighs, “No, it doesn't make me feel better.”

“Lemme be honest here. Yeah, I do wanna see my kids. I knew that would be an issue the same day I offered you to stay here. Mavis gets nightmares. My friends think I'm an idiot for lettin’ you stay. Nobody in town trusts me anymore, they think I'm crazier than I already was. John, I knew letting you in here would affect my life, and I knew parts of it would be suck, but I let you in anyway. I like you. You have nothing to prove to me anymore.”

John looks at his hands. Wrinkled, pale, rough things. Cleaned to a fault. Traces of black nail polish and ash stain his fingertips. 

“I don't deserve any of this,” John says.

“Maybe not, but I deserve some company.”

Merle rests his head on John's lap. John is startled for a moment before letting his shoulders finally fall. He traces his hand over Merle's hair, soft hair at his scalp that turns into thick dreads that suit him perfectly. He presses an ashen fingertip to the sun-kissed freckles on Merle's cheek. He's counted each one before, he could again. One-hundred and thirty-two unmistakable parts of Merle to remind him that he's real. He's part of the world once more, no matter how much it doesn't want him back.

John doesn't notice he's still crying until the tears well up so much that he when he blinks, they fall on Merle's forehead. John gives him a small sorry and wipes it away. 

“I’m alone, Merle. I’m an idiot.” John allows Merle to reach up and wipe his face. His hands stay there, holding him. “ _ This  _ is my punishment. I tried so hard to learn how to live and love and  _ feel _ just to realize that the rest of the world wants me dead.”

“I'm only allowed to live in the confines of this house, yet I can't stop thinking about the sea every time I hear it. It's ever present. I can hear it right now. It's trying to make me go outside. But the alarm spell, the people of this town, the memory of Istus... Everything was made to torment me except you.”

Merle pulls his face closer, still wiping it clean. John isn't sobbing, or even emoting the fact he's crying. The stoic look on his face is unmasked solely by the tears falling on his cheeks to Merle's soft palms. John turns his head to press a kiss against it.

“I am alone with you. No one else will have me.”

Merle opens his mouth to say something but stays silent. John understands. How would he respond? Silence with Merle means as much to him as a pleasant conversation. He continues to stroke the cleric's hair until he feels calm again. Merle watches him with unreadable eyes that eventually close shut.

“I like having you here with me,” Merle says. “I can't help you with the whole goin’ outside thing. I can't make people like you. There's a lot of things I can't fix, but if it helps, I like having you here. I only get to see the guys once a month or so, the rest of the group even less. You know how sporadic my visits with the kids can be. Most of the time, it's just you. I guess I'm alone with you too, John.”

John leans down and holds Merle up to kiss him. Kissing Merle also reminds him he’s alive and real, no God above could recreate the wave of fondness and love that washes over him. No void could, either.

Merle pulls away and runs his fingers over John's stubble, smiling. “So, you feeling better? Good enough to help me clean up this mess?”

“Merle, do you expect me to believe either of us have enough energy and motivation to clean up my mess right now?”

“I've cleaned up a lot of your messes feeling way worse than this.”

John sighs, “Touché.”

They settle for a bath, deciding to leave John's mess to whoever Merle will hire to clean it up later. John rests his eyes against Merle's wet hair, the bathroom filled with aromatic oils and plants determined to have him feeling as clean and fresh as possible. They end up on their bed, curled up together and listening to each other breathe. 

John wants to apologize over and over. The rapid beat of Merle's old heart must mean he wants to say something too. The rest of the night is quiet and blanketed by the intensity of their regrets. John says nothing when he feels Merle tremble and sob quietly against his night shirt. He doesn’t know what he  _ could _ say. But John finds the slightest bit of solace in knowing that something as hated as him can bring a sense comfort to the person he loves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you are terrifying, and strange, and beautiful. something not everyone knows how to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god. i am so sorry this took this long! i kinda fell off balance for a bit and was focused on amnesty pairings (as you can see from the influx of amnesty pwps i posted) but i still do want to finish this fic and i WILL finish it before the end of the summer i SWEAR!
> 
> anyway, thank you for anyone who's still reading. two months is a long time, i know, but i have to admit this was a very difficult chapter to write for... well, you'll see.
> 
> if you can, please consider leaving a comment or kudos! this is a relatively small ship and any support really helps <3 
> 
> **warnings** : discussion of nightmares

The world goes on.

A month passes before Hekuba finally allows the kids to stay. It's just for a weekend, two nights before they have to return to school. Merle is both ecstatic and terrified. John, on the other hand, is just terrified. Kids are even less predictable than adults, who are already very confusing, and he didn't have the privilege of being  _ truly  _ reborn, meaning that any understanding he has of childhood are from tattered memories and the books he's managed to read. There is only one thought that continues to plague John's mind:  _ What if they hate you? _

Merle gives him a crash course on anything and everything he has to know about the two children. Mavis is top of her class. Mookie loves going out to play. Mavis hates crust on her sandwiches. Mookie cries at the slightest instance of scolding. Mavis’ beard is beginning to grow a dark red color but she doesn't know how to do a proper braid. Mookie shakes his hands and taps his foot when he's overwhelmed. Mavis eats her nails when she's nervous. Mookie loves solving math problems.

John tries to make a mental note at each tidbit of information Merle gives him, but ends up becoming overwhelmed himself, especially since he's trying to cut back on his smoking before the kids arrive. It just makes him irritable, which results in Merle not talking to him so John's temper won't ruin his good mood.

Merle picks up his kids at the nearest teleportation circle. John waits at the living room, eyeing the front door every minute or so waiting for the three of them to arrive. When he isn't staring at the door, he's looking at his at his begonia plant, now far more in bloom than before. It puts him at ease, somewhat, until the very idea of having to spend time with... kids reminds him how truly out of the loop he is. Perhaps he should have read some parenting books. Perhaps he should lock himself in Merle’s room for the next three days until they leave. What if they scream at the sight of him? John wouldn’t know what he would do with himself, nor would Merle.

His train of thought stops at the sound of a knock on the door. John stands up instantly, pushing the chair behind him. Merle opens the door, revealing two short, dwarven kids right beside him.

They both have the same naturally tan complexion as their parents, freckles decorating their faces. Mookie has his father's lighter hair but only the slightest bit of peach fuzz on his jaw and chin, and his mother’s eyes. Mavis has Hekuba's darker hair, a short and trimmed beard with no decorations and wavy hair cut in a bob. Despite her cleaner cut appearance, she looks exactly like Merle. Same large brows, same wavy hair, same big eyes.

They're both staring at him at the door frame, eyes wide in a way that John can't place as fear, shock, or both. 

John straightens himself and walks towards the door, speaking as he takes his steps. “Hello, I am so eager to meet the two of you.” He extends a hand in front of them for either of them to take. “I'm John.”

Mookie is the first one to take his hand. He extends his smaller one slowly but gives him a firm grip. “Hi. ‘m Mookie.”

“Very nice to meet you, Mookie.” John says. He glances at Mavis, who's still staring at him, and decides it's best not to ask her for a handshake. “Um, come in. Come in. I can take your things to your room.”

Merle eyes him and then his kids, quickly putting on a practiced smile on his face. “Come on, I wanna hear all about the project you were workin’ on, Mavie.”

Mavis nods, not paying attention to her father and holding her backpack closer to her. “I can take it... Mister John.”

John tries to smile. “You can just call me John.”

“...Okay,” Mavis starts to walk upstairs. Mookie follows with a spring to his step, not as affected as his sister. John collapses on the chair he was on and sighs.

“She’s scared of me.”

“She  _ just  _ saw you. Give it a bit. Maybe she'll relax.”

“ _ Maybe _ .” John brings a hand to rub at his temple. “Okay. I can still lock myself up in a room for the weekend.”

Merle takes his hand. “I already told you that'll make you look even scarier.”

“So you're saying I already look scary?”

“Have you  _ seen _ your teeth? And your hair? You look like a comic book villain.” 

John huffs but doesn't disagree. He squeezes Merle's hand. When the kids walk back down, Mavis stops at the sight of the two of them. John wonders if she knows. She has to.

“Dad, can I go out and play?” Mookie asks, jumping up and down. “Please? I wanna make sand castles.”

Merle ruffles his son's hair, “Sure. Been a while since you've been at a nice beach, huh buddy?”

“Yeah, and I don't gotta clean pearls!”

“Your mom make you do that now? She used to make me do that too. Sheesh. Mavie, are you still cleaning pearls?”

Mavis looks away from their joined hands and raises her eyebrows. “Uh, um. No. Mom makes me check them after school for my allowance. Dad, is it okay if I stay in? I kinda wanna read a book.”

Merle looks at John and taps his hand. “Well, sure. Can't force ya. I'll be out with Mookie, but John will be here if you need anything.”

Mavis nods, not looking at John, and runs back upstairs to her room. She shuts the door loudly.

John and Merle look at each other at the same time and sigh. Mookie starts stomping on the ground.

“Dad,  _ pleeeaaaseee.”  _

Merle relaxes and laughs, “Alright, come on. Let's make the best sandcastle ever.”

“Yeah!”

Mookie goes off to collect his bucket and shovels. Merle rests a wooden hand on John's shoulder and squeezes before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Neither of them say a word, there's nothing to say that John doesn't already know. 

When Merle and Mookie walk off, John hears Mavis’ door slam shut once more.

 

\---

 

John manages to sneak in a cigarette while he's alone. 

He has a glass of lemonade Merle made yesterday, a pack of gum, cologne, and he's smoking out the window. The same practiced routine he's done a dozen times before so he won't get caught. John blows the smoke outside as he reads a romance novel he's been trying to finish for the past week.

He's so engrossed in the words he doesn't notice Mavis stand beside him until she clears her throat. John jumps at the sound, possibly startling her. 

He remembers the cigarette in his mouth and swears. “Shit.” He crushes it against the ashtray. “...Don’t tell your father I was smoking.”

Mavis blinks, holding a book at her side. “Can I... sit here and read with you?”

“Oh. Of course.” He clears his throat and gestures at the chair in front of him. “This is your house as much as it is mine.” He lights a candle to hopefully get rid of the smell.

Mavis sits in front of him and opens her book. Her feet don't touch the ground, not even on the dwarven built chair, shorter than the one Merle ordered to fit his body. She glances up at him from across the table and all John sees is a younger version of the man he loves. He looks down at his book, all the words blurring into one. 

A few minutes of silence pass and the tension in the air slowly leaves as their minds are distracted by the words in front of them. John notices that Mavis also reads quite quickly, just like him. He reaches the final pages of his book soon enough, then closes the book shut and sets it on the table. Mavis closes her book just a few seconds after. It seems she finished it too. She sniffs and wipes her eyes.

John offers her the tissue on his breast pocket. Mavis looks at it before slowly taking it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

“Was it a sad book?”

She looks up. “What?”

“The book you were reading. Was it sad?”

Mavis nods. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s a book about this criminal who did pretty bad stuff. Usually I’m fine reading it but this was one more detailed than usual.”

“You mother allows you to read those kinds of books? They can be intense.”

“...No, but the librarian keeps my secret.” Mavis toys with the tissue. “You won't tell, right?”

John leans back in his chair and gives her a small smile. “Secret’s safe if with me if you don’t tell your father I was smoking.”

Mavis snorts, “He's gonna smell it off you. And you got a bit of ash on your fingertips if he doesn't.”

He checks and fingers and, sure enough, she's right. “We both know your father isn't that perceptive.”

That makes her let out a little laugh, as does John. “Yeah, he isn't. Don't worry, I won't tell either.”

“Why crime books? Are you interested in being a detective like that McDonald boy?”

“Like Angus? Nah, don't think so.” Mavis’ face turns serious again, not making eye contact. “I don't know what I wanna be yet. I don’t wanna run Mom's pearl farm, that's for sure. But... I don't know. I wanna be a hero like dad.”

John pauses, his smile not faltering. “That's very noble. And good. I'm sure anyone would be proud of their child wanting to be a hero.”

“Yeah. I started reading them ‘cause I thought... if I read about enough bad things, then I'll be ready when if seem them. Then I won't get scared of...” She glances at John. “Bad stuff.”

_ Istus help me. _ John thinks. He desperately wishes he could have another smoke right now. He chooses his words very carefully. “Well, Mavis... there's nothing wrong with being scared. It's a natural response. Sometimes it saves us.”

“I don't like being scared.”

“I don't think anyone does. But it's important to feel things, sometimes even the emotions you don't like. Gods know I have many...”

Mavis thinks for a moment before speaking. “Miste- John... Um. Can I ask you some questions?”

John takes a sip of his lemonade. “Of course.”

“Is it okay if I’m a little scared of you? I know I shouldn't be, and dad likes you and I know you aren't going to do anything bad to him or me but... I can't help it.”

She looks up at him with Merle's hazel eyes. John looks down at his hands, furrowing his brows and trying not to seem affected by her words.

“I... would rather you weren't but I know better than anyone that it is very hard to stop feeling something once it starts. You are a very smart and intuitive girl and I am glad you're being honest. I hope I can do anything I can to change that fear to something else. I already knew you were having nightmares about my... previous form before you came.”

“That's why I came. I thought if I met you, they would go away.”

John nods, “Ask away, then. I want to help.”

Mavis’ eyes move to his book. “What were  _ you  _ reading?”

John chuckles, despite himself. “A romance book, actually. About two very different noblemen who marry to save one from poverty. I guess it's the opposite of what you were reading. It had a happy ending. They fall in love, obviously.”

Mavis perks up. “You like romance novels?”

“I just started reading them. You father has turned me into a bit of a romantic.” He smiles to himself. “Sometimes I steal lines off the books to try impress him. He always knows, but I think he likes it.”

“Mom... didn't actually tell us you guys were  _ together _ together.”

The smile the appeared on John’s face quickly leaves again. No wonder she was staring at them so intently as Merle held his hand. He was under the impression that the two already knew. “Oh. I... wasn’t aware. You father and I started ‘dating’, I suppose, shortly after I was reborn and moved in with him. It’s been almost... three or four months now.”

He hears Mavis swear under her breath but says nothing. He doubts Merle would care much if they swear. “Does that mean you’re my stepdad?”

John almost chokes on his lemonade as he takes another drink. “ _ Istus _ , no. I mean, you are under no obligation to view me as one. I am simply your father’s partner and you can just call me John. Don’t worry.”

“Oh. Good. No offense.” Mavis says quickly. “How would I explain that to my friends?”

“It’s best if you keep it on the down low for a while. But if you must... at least tell them I’m  a nice guy with a very nice suit.” He gestures at his three-piece proudly.

Mavis shrugs, “Eh. Not my style. Needs more color. Maybe you could get a blue suit!”

“I don’t really wear any colors that aren’t shades of black and white.”

Mavis laughs, “Mister John, I have a friend at school who also only wears black. She’s trying so hard to be cool. Maybe you are too.”

John isn’t prepared to have a fourteen year old  — or however old she is in dwarf years — psychoanalyse him. “It’s either that or I try on your father’s shirts. Which would you prefer?”

She laughs once more. He’s never made a child laugh before, it’s a nice feeling. “Oh, Pan no! Stick to your suits. I love dad but his clothes are so ugly sometimes.”

“Ugh, I know. I’ve been trying to get him to get a suit as well. Or at least some nicer outfits for his meetings and when he has to manage his bar. I even said I could be find with them having color and even... subtle patterns. But he  _ insists _ his floral shirts are just fine.” John tsks and shakes his head at the memory, playing up his frustration as Mavis smiles.

“Once, Mookie didn’t want to take off his kobold costume for a month. He wore it every day. I think he got that from dad.”

“Oh dear, Mookie got your father’s stubbornness? Good luck dealing with that.” He says as gently as possible so Mavis won’t mistake his words for actual insults. She doesn’t seem to, thankfully. 

Merle and Mookie come in shortly after. They’re both covered in salt water and sand. Merle isn’t wearing his shirt — probably lost it... again — while Mookie seems pleasantly tanned and spent from playing outside for hours. John holds back a smirk at the sight, he doesn’t want to flirt in front of the kids. Merle shoots him a wink anyway.

“Hey, you two chatting?” He asks, the surprise in his voice palpable.

“Yeah. We’re just talking about books.” Mookie says.

“Yep, he’s a reader like you. Did you see who can read faster? John, Mavis is a speed reader already! She’s won two reading competitions at her school!”

“ _ Daaaad...” _

John smiles at her. “She’s very intelligent.” He directs his attention to Mookie, who’s currently looking at some rocks he collected from the beach on his bucket. “Did you have a good time, Mookie?”

He shows John his bucket, placing a couple of similar looking rocks on the table. “Yeah! I got... I got some cool rocks. And dad and I saw some fish! I wanna hunt some for food but dad told me I don’t have to ‘cause y’all already get it from the store. But I wanna because I think it’s cool! But the Pan scouts wont let me use a knife until I’m older. But I thought if I practice real good now I could get the badge quicker than all the other scouts!”

John listens to Mookie’s rambling, already exhausted. He forgot children could talk nonstop for so long. He continues long enough that Merle notices and laughs, “Mooks, you’re gonna give John a headache. Come on, let’s take a shower buddy, then we can eat.”

“Hell yeah, I’m starving.”

“Hey, language!” Merle says. John snickers at the fact that  _ Merle  _ of all people is scolding someone for blasphemy.

“Sorry — Heck yeah, I’m starving!”

“Better,” He says, and John watches the two of them retreat to the bathroom. Mavis speaks up, diverting his attention back to her.

“Mister John, I was wondering if you could recommend me some good books. Did you get any new ones? All the ones dad has last time I checked are about sailing and flowers.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I extended his collection a  _ lot _ since I arrived. Come, I can show you some of my favorites.  _ Age appropriate ones,  _ of course.”

Mavis smiles and agrees. For once, John starts to think it won't all go terribly wrong. 

 

\---

 

They’re woken up to a high pitched scream in the middle of the night.

John bolts up awake instantly while Merle groggily opens his eyes, patting away for his glasses as John stands up, already wrapping a robe around his body. Merle hastily puts on his pants and casts light on a candlestick, illuminating the room just a bit.

They both stare at each other, knowing exactly who screamed. John stares at Merle apologetically. 

“I'll go calm her down,” Merle mumbles, taking the candlestick and going to Mavis's room. “Stay here. Don't want to spook her anymore than she already is.” 

John waits a moment before quietly walking near the door of Mavis's room. He leans his body next to the open door, out of sight, as he tries to listen into what he can. 

“He ain't gonna hurt you, Mavie. It's not gonna happen again. You know that, sweetheart.” He hears Merle say, same soft tone he uses on John to calm him down. 

“I know. I  _ know _ , but I-I still have dreams and even if I talked to him and he was nice I was still so scared, dad. I’m sorry, I know you like him and I'm trying to like him but he was... oh,  _ pan _ .” Mavis starts weeping again. “I'm sorry, dad. I wish I wasn't scared anymore.”

“It's okay, Mavie. It'll take time. I'm here-” He says, ever patient in a way John has only seen him be with him. He walks away before hearing anything else, regretting that he listened at all. It’s not a moment for him to have.

John goes back to the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

Mookie steps inside the door holding a manticore plushie. John doesn't notice him until he speaks. 

“Did Mavis have a bad dream about you again, Mister John?”

John stares at the young boy, wondering if he even has the strength to comment on his harsh honesty. He vaguely remembers kids can be like that. “Yes... Your father is calming her down right now. He might stay in her room tonight.”

Mookie stares at the floor. “Oh. Okay... I was gonna ask if I could sleep here with you guys.”

John stares at the now empty bed then at the child in front of him, and somehow he can't bring himself to say no. “If you wish, I'll just sit here, alright?”

Mookie nods quietly and settles into the bed, resting between his and Merle's pillows as John sits down on his human sized recliner. He leans back and watches Mookie quickly fall asleep, holding his stuffed animal tightly against his chest, and wonders if that's how Merle slept once too.

Eventually the sound of crying from the other room stops, John assumes Merle is resting with his daughter by now.

The parental domesticity he's dealt with all day makes him nervous. He's part of the family now, despite everything, and this will not be the last time Merle's children become the main worry and focus of his days. He knows deep inside that Mavis’ fear will pass and heal. How long that will take he doesn’t know, but he knows both him and Mavis do not want to deal with it any longer. 

John knows he does not have to be a father to the two of them, but he’s still a newfound presence in their lives. Parenthood was never a thought that occurred to him.  _ Ever.  _ This is... new.

Nor is it terrible, even if one of Merle’s kids is terrified of him. Then again, so does most of the world.

He can deal with this.

John hears the gentle sound of rain falling outside. For once, it doesn't feel mockingly depressing. It washes everything away, until all that's left is the comfort of the roof over their heads and each other.

 

\---

 

Mavis smiles at him at breakfast.

John smiles back. They both look down at their respective books and continue reading in silence. It's not completely comfortable, the memory of Mavis crying still fresh and vulnerable, but it works for now.

John will talk to her if she wants to.

But the day goes on. John watches the beach from the window, a dot in the distance telling him that Merle is off at the beach again with his kids, along with a couple of other dwarves. John absentmindedly thinks about how he hasn't seen another human in months. Not that he's complaining, the dwarves he's met have been mostly kind or at the very least hateful without inciting physical violence. The other humans he's met... not so much. 

He focuses on his book for now. He traded Mavis's book of killers and crime for a historical fiction novel he thought she might like. It was mostly to verify whether or not his name was in the book but it pre-dates the Story and Song, much to his dismay and relief. 

The house feels so empty without Merle. John feels like a nervous pet waiting for its owner to come home from work. He cleans the house, rearranges the library, he even tends to the plants now when he's bored and alone. A drink wouldn't be proper with their current guests, so he suffers with the emptiness for now, like he's done for so long.

He wants to leave this house so badly. He wants to feel the waves crashing beneath his feet again.

A candle flickers beside him as he thinks. 

Merle comes home soon enough, all three of them freshly tan and smelling like the ocean. John allows himself enjoy the sight of Merle’s bare skin and freckles only to remind himself that there's kids around a second later. He makes a mental note to deal with that later, once the kids are picked up by their mother, and they're finally alone.

Mookie, however, does not seem keen on leaving any time soon.

“I don't wanna go home! Mom will make me go to school tomorrow and I gotta clean pearls!” John had never seen a child's tantrum in person. He wishes he didn't have to. “ _ Daaaad _ , please! I don't wanna go.”

Merle sighs and doesn't even bother telling Mookie to get off the floor. “Mooks, please, I need ya to get showered and get dressed. Your mom never told me when she's picking you up.”

“But I don't wanna go! I don't wanna!” The yells devolve into wailing and stomps to the wooden floor. Mavis sits nearby, watching her brother scream, and something tells John she isn’t too keen on going back home either. 

“Maybe you can visit next week, Mookie.” John tries to add helpfully, but the boy only complains more.

Merle rubs his temples, “Fine, I'll shower and change. Mavis you go do the same, please. Mookie can go home smelling like old ocean water and with sand everywhere if he wants. John, keep an eye on him, will ya?”

The passive aggressiveness does not change Mookie's mind, who continues to complain. John nods and glances at the boy in half-fascination and half-an impending migraine. Mavis slumps over to one of the bathrooms as Merle heads to their bedroom. John can't admit it out loud, but Merle is quite adorable when he's grumpy.

Mookie eventually stops yelling and just stares at the ceiling instead. John uses the silence to read, at least he tries before the boy speaks to him.

“This sucks. I don't wanna go home.”

John sighs, “Why? Because you have to go to school and help around the family business? They’re things you have to do, Mookie. Your father had to, so did I... I think.”

Mookie sits up and looks him. “Did you have to work, Mister John?”

“Yes. I... talked to people and helped them with their problems.”

“Well, can you tell my mom school is boring? Well, except math class, but everything else is boring. I don't wanna go! I wanna stay here and go to the beach!”

John thought he was making progress but, alas, it seems they’re back in square one.

“Mookie,  _ please, _ screaming won't get you anything. If you want something, take action.” John sits back into his chair and closes his eyes, already tired. “Maybe talk to your mother if she can let you skip tomorrow. Or maybe, just maybe, you should just do what she says. She's a smart woman, and has your best intentions at heart. Do you understand me?”

Mookie is not sitting beside him when he opens his eyes. John's heart sinks to his stomach as he instantly realizes where the boy is.

John runs to the doorframe, hands grabbing at the wall beside him and stopping right before he reaches his limit. Mookie stands at the porch mockingly, and John cannot help but notice how harsh the waves get behind him as the sun dips into the horizon. John looks back at Mookie, voice low and threatening at he speaks. “Get back in the house right now.”   


“Ya told me to take action, Mister. I’m runnin’ away so I never gotta go to school and clean pearls again, okay?” Mookie says, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. It’s child logic and dramatics, but it’s also the worst possible thing that could happen to him right now. 

“Mookie, Istus damn it! Get inside,  _ now! _ ” John slams his fist to the wall, hard. Enough that his knuckles hurt. “You’re going back home no matter what you do, now stop whining like a brat and get back here  **now!**

Mookie flinches and steps back. He has the same kind of look that all those people back at the Bureau when he stepped through. Mookie looks terrified. Merle’s  _ child _ is terrified of him. John stops and pulls back. He just yelled at a child he barely knows. He wonders what his face must look like. By gods, he hopes he looks sorry.

Mookie stares back, face terrified and on the brim of tears before it twists into a glare. John recognizes that face from the parlay where Merle gave up on him. He gulps, “I’m sorry. Just get inside,  _ please. _ ”

The young boy starts to run to the water before John finishes speaking. John yells out his name, hopefully loud enough for Merle to hear, but he doesn’t get a response quickly enough. The boy is barely three feet tall, the waves could eat him alive. He wished earlier for the feeling of waves against his skin. Why must Istus mock him like this?

“Damn it. Damn it.  _ Fuck.”  _ John says, at himself and at the deity looking down at him. “I’m sorry, Merle.”

He barely steps a foot out of the house before he hears a loud sound, sees white, then just black.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated! i love to hear your thoughts <3


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